


The Flower of Jötunheimr

by Springsie



Category: Norse Mythology, Norse Religion & Lore, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Arranged Marriage, Characters to be added, Drunk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Flowers, Intersex Loki, Jotun!Loki, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Language of Flowers, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Rating totally changed, Sexual Content, Tags May Change, Underage - Freeform, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, temporarily
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 13:54:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1307251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Springsie/pseuds/Springsie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki's first impression of Thor is not good, and Thor's is likewise. Their first encounters do not go smoothly to say the least; however, when politics and trade bring the Æsir court to Jötunheimr, they find themselves in one another's company constantly. To his utter distaste, Loki cannot help finding himself enamored with the obnoxious, idiotic prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Two Princes Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's first impression of Thor is not good, and Thor's is likewise. Their first encounters do not go smoothly to say the least; however, when politics and trade bring the Æsir court to Jötunheimr, they find themselves in one another's company constantly. To his utter distaste, Loki cannot help finding himself enamored with the obnoxious, idiotic prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings, one and all! 
> 
> Well, here it is, the complete first chapter! I'm hoping to get chapter two up by the end of the day, but if it doesn't happen, I'm sorry!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the preview of this chapter, and thank you for waiting for the full chapter. I realized earlier that the preview has the potential to be a full chapter, but it didn't end the way I wanted it to so... 
> 
> Anyhow! Enjoy the rest the new bits! Thank you for reading! 
> 
> -EverBeenToSpace

It had never exactly been his intention to get caught trespassing, but then, it never really is. The whole point of trespassing—or at least trespassing _well_ —is to not get caught.

Loki is ashamed to say that the reason he is discovered in the first place is because of the moon. Or rather, because of the way it is dancing off the petals of a flower he has never seen. Of all the nights he has spent wandering the deserted, sleepy streets of Ásgarð, he has never once dared venture into Glaðsheimr, the halls of the All-Father, and if legends hold true, no Jötun has ever set foot within its walls. It is only natural that Loki of Jötunheimr should see that as a challenge and accept it willingly. And he is absolutely taken aback by what he finds as he pads quietly down the vast hallway, the wall to his left housing more rooms than he has time to count, some doorless and open, others sealed behind lock and key; however, to his right, there is no wall, only grand columns standing, by Loki’s estimate, roughly fifty feet apart, baring the weight of the ceiling. The wind dances in and out of the hallway, beckoning Loki into the lush garden, and who is he to deny that invitation?

All around him are flowers filling the night with their fragrance, and Loki closes his eyes and inhales. He finds himself envying the Æsir. While the gardens of Jötunheimr are beautiful, the gardens of Ásgarð are radiant; they light a warmth in his chest that he has never experienced before. He has always loved flowers, something his brothers never cease to find amusement in, and now, surrounded by species he has only read about in books and never seen in person, he is feeling more than a little overwhelmed, his usual caution slipping as he crouches to examine what he thinks must be a bunch of calla lilies. He digs his toes into the grass and earth to keep his balance as he reaches forward to touch one of the flowers, reveling in the almost waxy texture of the petal and watching the way the moonlight plays off its surface. 

And then he feels it before he hears so much as a threat. There is suddenly a charge of electricity in the air that causes his skin to tingle, and Loki knows he is not alone.

“How dare you trespass into the House of Odin,” the voice accompanying the electricity spits. “Who are you?”

In that second, Loki’s higher brain functions switch from reason to instinct and he jumps to his feet and whirls around in one swift, graceful movement, his braid whipping around him, the rings of gold that adorn his ankles and wrists jangling. He finds himself staring Thor Odinson, the Golden Son, Crown Prince of Ásgarð, right in the face. The prince has Mjölnir in hand, sparks crackling and hissing around her head, and his face is the epitome of rage. That is, until he takes Loki in. But before the Thunderer has time to digest what he is seeing or gather his words into speech, Loki is gone.

The disappearance is not anything particularly amazing, no blinding flash of light, no burst of gold or green or any other conceivable color in the spectrum. It is just a matter of one moment he is there, and the next he is not, as if he had never been there in the first place. Flashy magic was used in battle to frighten enemies, not in the House of Odin after having been caught trespassing by the All-Father’s heir.

Loki finds himself in his chambers and staggers slightly, catching his balance on the foot of the bed. Still in shock, he sits and runs his fingers through the fur throw and scolds himself for doing something so foolish. If he had been caught, the All-Father would have had him punished severely, not to mention his own father’s punishment. And Loki finds himself trembling and cursing himself under his breath. Why should he, Loki, son of Fárbauti-King, be frightened of a juvenile, arrogant prince of Ásgarð? Why should he be frightened when he is the most powerful sorcerer Jötunheimr has seen in millennia? But he is frightened, though it burns him to admit it, even in his own mind. He is frightened, even with the knowledge that he could have killed the Golden Son with a flick of his wrist or a breath from his lips. He is not frightened because he witnessed this night the power of Mjölnir, he is not frightened by the prospect of death if he had been captured. Loki finds himself trembling because he _wants_ to go back, he _wants_ to encounter Thor one more time. He finds himself allured by the blond Ásgarðian and curses under his breath.

Loki does not return to Ásgarð for eight days. 

~

He spends his times sleeping, and reading in the library. If his family finds his behavior strange, they do not say anything; and Loki is grateful for it. It is not that he will not lie if it comes to that—he discovered when he was very young that he has a talent for lying—it is simply that he does not want to lie to his mother. He loves her dearly and it pains him whenever he tells her an untruth. He thinks that if she confronts him about his behavior he will likely confess to her his exploits to Ásgarð. But for now, Loki is safe; meals are quiet and discussions at the table stay mostly between his brothers and his father. 

The fifth day after his encounter with the son of Odin, Loki attends court at his father’s request. It is something that he hates tremendously, tedious and boring when he could be spending his time reading or hiding away in his favorite nooks, the places only he has been able to find because of his size. His small stature was something he cursed when he was younger. People would stare at him outside the palace walls because he was the runt prince of Fárbauti-King, no larger than an average Ásgarðian male. He has since grown to appreciate his size; it makes him quicker, lighter on his feet, and he is able to fit into places no other Jötun would even think of. People no longer whisper about the runt prince because he is unusual and misplaced in Jötunheimr, they whisper about him because he has proven himself, has proven that he is something to hold both in fear and in awe. He holds himself with that prowess as he enters the hall and takes his seat beside his father. 

By the time court ends, Loki thinks he may die from boredom. The dealings of the realm are not something he takes any pleasure from and he finds himself grateful that he will never be king. In fact, he thinks he would make a terrible king. He would be bored half the time and shoving his duties off on stewards the other half. He is also grateful that, should anything happen to the eldest, Býleistr, the throne will pass not to Loki, but to Helblindi. When he was a child, unknowing of the politics behind ruling a kingdom and unknowing of the responsibility, he had been furious. Why should his baby brother have the right to rule before him? He knows now, of course. Loki is too small and too strange to rule Jötunheimr, something Býleistr had sneered in his face when they were only slightly older, making the mistake of assuming he would not retaliate. Loki had seethe for two days before exacting his revenge. Even at that age, Loki’s skill in magic was above and beyond what any of his tutors had the experience to train and he put those skills to good use, placing a spell on his brother that removed any and all verbal filters. And the things that had come out of his mouth. Loki does not remember a time when he laughed harder than those two days. 

As he is lost in his thoughts, Loki does not remember making his way back to his chambers, his feet walking the path he has taken a thousand thousand times. There is just enough time before dinner to sneak in an evening nap and he is stepping toward the bed with longing when a knock comes to his door. When he throws it open, the angry words die on his lips, replaced by a pleased smile. He straightens his back and opens the door wider. 

“Mother,” Loki says, stepping aside to let her in. “What a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe this visit?” 

Nál smiles and enters, and Loki takes no time shutting the door behind her. When he turns back, his mother is sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“It has been some time since we have spoken, little one. I merely miss the company of my son. Come,” she pats the spot beside her, “sit. I want to know what you have been up to lately. And why you have been acting oddly.”

Loki cringes inwardly. Nál is not stupid, he knows that, but he has been hoping she had not noticed his obvious absence from daily life. Swallowing, he takes slow steps until he is at the bed with no other choice but to sit beside her. He cannot help but laugh, though, when he sees a brush in her hand and she is motioning for him to turn the other way. 

“Mother, I _am_ grown, I hope you know. I’m perfectly capable of brushing my own hair,” Loki protests, turning with a smile nonetheless. It has been some time since Nál last brushed or braided his hair.

“I know that,” she says as she begins to undo the intricate sequence of braids and twists Loki plaited into his own hair during court. “But you are still my child and the instinct to care for you will always be strong. And besides, your brothers both keep their hair far too short to brush or plait.”

That is true enough, Loki thinks. Both Býleistr and Helblindi keep their hair cropped close to their scalp, while his hair has grown to be past his elbows. It is something he takes great pride in, often waving golden strings into his plaits, or sliver beads. When he was a child, Nál, to Fárbauti’s chagrin, had taught him to braid and he had mastered it quickly, adding his own spins on it until it became too intricate for anyone but himself to learn. His brothers often taunt him from being more of a daughter than a son. Loki has known from a young age that he is different than Býleistr and Helblindi, not only mentally, but physically as well. When he was old enough to understand, his mother explained that not only can he impregnate, he can become impregnated. And though it is not something he is ashamed of, many Jötnar are intersex, it is something his brothers, Býleister especially, like to poke fun at.

It was a little over four months ago that Loki snapped under the weight of the jibes.

He had been enjoying an afternoon in the greenhouse, sketching, when his brothers made their presence known. Loki had done his best to ignore them, hoping that if he did, they would let him be.

“Why are you always drawing, little brother?” Býleistr had asked, yanking at Loki’s sketchbook. “Does your cunt rule your mind over your cock that much?”

Loki’s head had snapped up so fast that he could see the way his brothers started. Furious, he had lunged for his older brother, the fact that he was several heads taller making no difference. Without much effort, Loki had used his magic to bring Býleistr’s feet out from under him and his fist connected with his nose as he fell. 

“Don’t you _ever_ speak to me that way again,” Loki had growled, his voice low and deadly as his brother brought a hand to his bleeding nose. Loki found out later that he had broken it. 

“You are tense, little one,” Nál says once she has undone all of the braids. She begins slipping the beads from his hair now. “Is something the matter?”

Loki forces his shoulders to relax and straightens his back. After a moment, he gives a shrug and says, “Not particularly. I was just thinking about something Býleistr said to me is all.” He hears his mother chuckle softly and gives a faint smile.

“Oh, sweetling, you mustn’t dwell on the past. Your brother means well."

Somehow, Loki seriously doubts that, but he keeps his tongue in check as she begins to brush her fingers through his hair, feeling for any stray beads. Býleistr has always disliked him, and when they were at that awkward stage, no longer children, but not quite adults, he had slowly turned their baby brother against him. Now Loki is lucky if he gets a sidelong glance and fragmented smile from Helblindi, or an apologetic look after a jibe. But it is fine. Loki has always preferred to be on his own, not nannying his baby brother.

Loki sighs as Nál removes the last of the beads and begins to brush through his hair. He stays quiet for a long time, enjoying the gentle tug and pull while she slowly works plaits back into his locks. It feels to him as if she is weaving a net of sorts. The two braids at his temple come round to meet at the back of his head, only to separate back into two once more and join again three or four times more. Then Nál is adding to it from a different part of his scalp. It amazes Loki that his mother is patient enough to braid his hair so intricately, adding beads where she thinks they are needed. Even though he knows the end result will be beautiful as it always is, he is curious to see it.

Finally, his mother’s hands settle and come to rest on his shoulders, and she places a kiss to the crown of his head. “I have brought you something."

Loki furrows his brows. He cannot remember the last time anyone had given him a gift when it was not a special occasion. He turns to face his mother, keeping his hands on his lap, one resting within the other. He can see Nál has something cupped gently in her own hands, keeping it out of his line of sight. The inability to see the object his mother holds only makes him more and more curious. But before he can so much as speak, she shows him.

It is a flower.

“I purchased it from a trader who visited Álfheimr,” she explains. “There is a spell on it to keep it from wilting or dying. I hope you like it.”

The flower looks small in Nál’s hand, but when Loki takes it, it is larger than his palm. All he can do is stare. It truly is gorgeous, and unlike any flower he has ever read about or seen drawings of. He is knowledgeable of flowers in three of the nine realms and Álfheimr is not one of them. This flower resembles a water lily in petal size and shape, but that is where the similarities end. The rows of petals are a deep red that progressively grows lighter toward the center where seven stamen rise a golden yellow. The tips of the petals themselves are long and curled and if he looks closely enough, Loki can see flecks of black peppering their insides. He is truly amazed by the sight of it.

“Oh, Mother,” he breathes, looking up at her with wide eyes, and for a moment he feels like a child again. “It is beautiful. Thank you.” He rests it gingerly on the bed beside him and reaches to hug her. “I love it.”

Nál returns the hug and smiles. “And I love you, sweetling.”

~

On the night of the eighth day, Loki steals away to Ásgarð again.

~

His magic brings him to the gardens of Glaðsheimr once more.

The moon is waning and plays tricks with the shadows. It has Loki on edge and he does not let himself be distracted by the flowers around him, though he does admire them in the back of his mind. As he walks silently through the grass, feeling it under the soles of his feet, he listens. He listens and he can almost hear the flowers speak to him; he can hear the wind sigh through the grass and dance between the grand columns; he can hear the gurgling of a nearby fountain and the chirping of crickets all around him. And then he hears footfall and melts into the shadows beneath a grove of trees. He waits and listens and watches. But the steps only belong to a lone sentry making his rounds.

When the man is gone, Loki ventures into the waning moonlight once more. Not a second later does the grass rustles behind him and he spins around. He finds Thor watching him closely. The prince does not have Mjӧlnir in hand, but Loki is not a fool. He knows that is no feat for the Thunderer to call forth his weapon. However, should the need arise, he can kill Thor before the thought of calling her so much as crosses his mind. So Loki keeps on his toes, his magic buzzing faintly at his fingertips.

“Who are you?” Thor finally asks, breaking the silence. Loki can practically see the cogs turning in Thor’s mind as he thinks. “And what are you doing here?”

Loki grins. “Why, I am Loki of Jӧtunheimr,” he bows mockingly, “pleased to make your acquaintance, son of Odin.”

Thor looks almost too shocked for words and Loki has to keep himself from laughing his amusement. Until Thor opens his mouth, that is. “You are Fárbauti’s famed sorcerer?” he scoffs, crossing his arms and lifting an eyebrow. “I thought you would be…bigger.”

Loki growls and stalks forward a step or two, his palms tingling as he fights to keep his temper under control. “Are the Æsir unaware that this _famed sorcerer_ is the runt prince of Fárbauti-King? And you think us dull.” He sees Thor’s expression darken as he drops his hands to his sides, fingers twitching as if he is itching to summon Mjӧlnir to him, and Loki smirks.

“We were aware. We simply did not know that runt implied something as puny as you.”

Tilting his head to the side, the delicate ornaments dangling from his horns tinkle together and Loki grins. “Is there another definition of runt that I am unaware of?” he asks, tone mocking. In the blink of an eye and before the Thunderer can even twitch a muscle, Loki is upon him, an elegant, long-bladed dagger pressed to the blond man’s throat. “Do not underestimate me simply because I am small. I more than make up for it,” he hisses, nose inches from Thor’s.

He takes a moment to enjoy the expression on the prince’s face as it flashes from frightened to angry to impressed before he eases back.

“Relax." He gives an easy smile, watching the dagger fade into smoke between his fingers. “If I truly wanted you dead, you would be already.”

Thor does not relax though, his body still tense and guarded, and for some reason it perplexes Loki and makes his nerves itch anxiously.

“You still have not answered why you are here, Jӧtun,” the Ásgarðian says, his voice holding the hint of a threat, and Loki has to keep himself from barking out a laugh. “If you have not come to kill me, then what do you want?”

He gives pause. What does he want? That is not a question easily answered. Loki wants many things; he wants to walk through the grass without the confines of the greenhouse walls; he wants to be able to visit this realm in daytime without fear of war breaking out; he wants to know the blond prince that stands before him. But how is Loki to explain all this to the Ásgarðian and make him believe? Ásgarð still think the Jӧtnar a cruel, beastly race, only intent on bloodshed and war. A great deal has changed in Jӧtunheimr since the Great War, but how is Loki supposed to convince Thor he does not crave blood?

So he chooses to say, rather bluntly, “I come to admire the flowers,” and Thor is so startled that he actually laughs. At the skeptical look he receives, Loki scowls. “What? I have!”

“Forgive me if I do not believe you, sorcerer. As I have been told, you are a liesmith and a sliver tongue.”

Loki snarls, teeth bared. “And I have heard tale that you are just a foolish boy who makes believe he is a prince,” he spits.

All amusement drops from the prince’s demeanor and it is suddenly like staring a storm in the face. Loki holds his ground, keeping his gaze firm. This show of anger at obvious goading only solidifies the child persona in his eyes and he feels no fear.

“You seem to forget to whom you are speaking, Jӧtun,” Thor growls, taking a step forward as if to intimidate Loki.

He only laughs and crosses his arms. “I do not,” he says simply, amusement flickering on his face. A mocking smile curls Loki’s lips and he bends a bit at the waist to lean in in a slightly patronizing fashion. “I am speaking to Thor, son of Odin, crown prince of Ásgarð. I simply see no need to fear him,” the sorcerer gives a one shouldered shrug, “because as I have said, he is nothing more than a foolish boy who makes believe he is a prince.”

Thor is quicker than he anticipates, but Loki is quicker still. In the seconds before Mjӧlnir is slamming into his chest and the Thunderer pins him to a nearby tree, the Jӧtun performs his favorite spell, fingers barely twitching, and the golden prince is none the wiser. When his back collides with the rough bark of the tree, Loki lets out a shrill, breathless laugh as he feels Mjӧlnir’s magic course through his body in a shock of electricity.

“Are you going to kill me, Odinson?” Loki spits, face morphing into a feral sort of snarl.

“Because I highly recommend rethinking that tactic,” he continues. However, his voice is whispered into Thor’s ear and the clone trapped against the tree dissolves into a vaguely green mist.

When the Ásgarðian prince rounds to strike him down, the Jӧtun’s left hand darts out to clasp his sun kissed wrist while the other holds a fine silver dagger to his throat. Thor immediately stills and Loki give a vicious smile, pressing the blade into his flesh until a bead of blood wells and trickles down to the embezzled hilt. He really would love nothing more than to slit the man’s throat and be done with the whole business, but he dares not, for surely that would cause war to break loose between Jӧtunheimr and Ásgarð. As prince, though heir he is not, it is Loki’s duty to keep peace not make war, not when there has be peace between the realms for so long. And furthermore, killing the crown prince in cold blood would only solidify the Æsir chicken squabble, proving to them that the Jӧtnar are still as wild and bloodthirsty as they had been before the Great War.

Restraining himself from further violence, Loki withdraws his blade and releases Thor’s wrist before stepping back quickly, his ruby eyes cautious. He keeps the dagger in his tight grip as he eyes the Thunderer, watches as the man lowers Mjӧlnir and brings his free hand to his throat to feel where the Jӧtun cut him. Loki likes Mjӧlnir not and darts his gaze in a quick flicker from her to Thor and back several times.

“Take your words back, sorcerer,” the Golden Son finally growls, lowering his hand, and Loki can see blood glistening wetly on his fingers in the waning moonlight.

He gives a falsely sincere smile and shakes his head. “I’m afraid I cannot do that. You see, a silver tongue never takes back his words,” the liesmith explains, his false smile giving way to a terrible and stunning grin. He glances up at the moon then, and sighs dramatically. “Oh my. Is it that late already? I’m afraid I must be on my way home, my prince,” he sweeps a low bow, “until next time.”

And Loki is gone.

~

Several moons later, he finds himself standing before a looking glass, a sour expression on his face. Nál is tugging and pinning silk into place, humming quietly for the both of them. When she looks up and sees his reflection in the glass, she stands and chuckles softly, brushing his loose hair away from his face.

“Why such an unpleasant face, little once?” she asks gently, pressing her palm against his cheek affectionately.

Loki does not meet her gaze, instead opting to glare down at his bare feet and fiddle with the silk Nál has meticulously pinned around his body. The answer to her question is a simple enough one; the Æsir court are paying Fárbauti-King a political visit. While there has long since been peace between Jӧtunheimr and Ásgarð, tensions have grown and Fárbauti worries war may be on the horizon if matters are not resolved. It is not, however, the visit that has Loki so flustered and out of sorts, it is the members of court that will be participating, or rather member.

Several days earlier, Fárbauti-King had called his sons to the library, telling them that in a fortnight, Odin All Father and his son and heir, Thor, would be arriving to negotiate trade conditions and other political topics Loki did not pay attention to long enough to hear. His mind had been rather violently snared by the name Thor. He would not have been worried had their previous meeting not gone so badly, but it had; it had gone very badly. They had threatened one another and Loki had drawn the prince’s blood. That right there would have been enough to start a war over.

And now Loki stands before the looking glass, staring coldly down at his bare feet. Nál lifts his chin, repeats the question, and he sighs.

“I was merely thinking about the Æsir, Mother,” he finally answers, his voice only holding the tiniest amount of contempt. “Must they really come here? I know times are not what they used to be after the Great War and that another may be looming over our realms, but they are so loud and arrogant.” His expression turns petulant and Loki knows he is acting like a spoiled child.

Nál give him a stern look and her hands are on her hips. She looks ever the mother and Loki is immediately ashamed of himself. “The All Father and his son are coming to keep the peace, not to start trouble, Loki,” she says, not unkindly. Her hand raises to brush a few stray hairs away from his face, tucking them delicately behind his ear. “You mustn’t look on this with such negative eyes, sweetling. This is a wonderful opportunity; you may even find that you enjoy the Ásgarðian prince’s company.”

Loki cannot keep himself from snorting derisively and looks away when his mother sighs. If he had not already had the displeasure of meeting Odinson, he thinks that perhaps he would believe his mother’s words, or at least try to. In a little over three days, his halls will be invades by Odin, his son, and their court. Their scent will fill his home for the gods only knew how long and the only thing he can do about it is grit his teeth and bear it.

Where had that fortnight gone? Loki thinks bitterly. And how can he get it back?

~

On the morning of the Æsir arrival, Loki is ushered very suddenly out of bed. Had it not been for the early sun blinding him when the curtains are drawn back, the Jӧtun prince would have blown into a fury at being woken so suddenly and so rudely. Before he has time to spit the insults building on his tongue, he finds himself in the washroom, steam billowing in smothering clouds around him. Growling, he shoos the pushy servants away, shutting the heavy doors tightly behind them. 

A hot bath has already been drawn for him, and Loki sighs as he sinks into it, the heat steeping into his cold skin. He has always enjoyed these moments he has to himself, just the sound of the water splashing quietly as he bathes himself and the obscured finely carved stone of the room. Through the steam clouds, around him Loki can see his hair floating just below the surface of the hot water, following the ebb and flow of convection as the hot water rises and sinks as it cools. Sighing as he watches, he thinks about the Æsir dignitaries. They are probably crossing the tundra toward the palace as he washes his body. Growling at the thought, Loki submerges himself beneath the water until his lungs burn for air.

When he emerges, gasping in as much oxygen as he can, he pushes his hair away from his face. He is sure if he does not hurry, he will have someone breaking his door down and he sighs, standing. The heat is beginning to get to him and in a single flash of magic, the steam becomes snow and falls around him, cooling his skin as he dries. In his chamber, he sits on the edge of the bed combing through his long hair as it drips onto his lap.

A few minutes later, as Loki braids intricate plaits into his wet hair, adding gold here and gems there, there is a knock at the door and Nál-Queen enters with a patient smile. The young Jӧtun is suddenly, impractically, embarrassed to have been caught by his mother with only a small linen towel covering his modesty. It is silly and Loki knows it; this is the woman who gave birth to him after all. He shifts on the edge of the bed as he positions the towel on his lap to better cover himself and feels the furs rub pleasantly against his bare backside and the backs of his thighs. And he knows, stupidly, that he is blushing.

“Hello, Mother,” he says casually, keeping his eyes down as he continues to work on his hair. “What are you doing here?”

Nál smiles and motions to the small bundle of silk and furs cradled in her arm. “I have come to get you ready for the Æsir arrival,” she answers, moving forward to set the bundle on the bed beside him. When she draws nearer, she takes pause, her smile dropping away into a worried expression. “Is something the matter, little one? Are you feeling well?”

Loki cringes slightly at the question. He is fine, he really is, but…the sudden heat that flushed over him has settled uncomfortably, taking refuge lower in his belly, burning slowly and completely, radiating through him. He has never felt this sensation, never felt as if his insides were being boiled; it is dreadful. But he smiles at Nál all the same.

“It’s nothing, Mother,” Loki insists, shifting again. “Just nerves. I will be fine once I break my fast.”

For a moment, Nál-Queen looks doubtful and Loki prays she does not press the subject any further. “If you are sure, dear one,” she says slowly, sitting beside him on the edge of the mattress.

Letting out a tiny sigh, Loki keeps his eyes downcast, working an emerald into his hair. The sudden embarrassment is beginning to ebb, though the uncomfortable burning heat seems to grow slightly more insistent and he wishes with all his might that it would leave him be.

His hair is done a few minutes later, Nál patiently waiting. When the last strand is firmly in place and the end is tied off with a thin leather thong the same color as his hair, she ushers him to his feet. It has been some while since he has oiled his skin and it is suffering for it, the azure hue slightly dulled. His mother takes the liberty of retrieving the soft square of hide from its place in a cabinet in the bathing room, leaving him standing nude in the middle of the room, his long braid trailing down his back, swaying as he shifts on his feet. Nál returns a few moments later, the leather square looking tiny between her fingers.

“You have been neglecting yourself, sweetling,” she murmurs, soaking the square in the oil she has brought with her. When she begins rubbing his skin gently, the sent of lavender drifts to his nose, relaxing him slightly.

She starts with his shoulders, holding the intricate plait out of the way as she works, moving slowly down his back to the backs of his thighs and calves. Loki stands still, though there are parts of his body that are sensitive and ticklish. Finally, his mother is done and he lets out a breath of relief. 

Nál-Queen takes a step back from Loki and looks him up and down as if she is examining her work. After a moment, she smiles and gives a satisfied nod. “There now,” she murmurs, laying the oil hide on the side table with the small bottle. “You look like the proper prince you are. Let’s get you dressed; your father wants you with him and your brothers to greet the Æsir court when they arrive.”

Loki sighs as his mother moves to the bed, retrieving his garb. The smallest and most feminine of her sons, Nál takes great joy in having fine clothes sewn for him and beautiful jewelry forged. Loki does not mind, he rather enjoys the fine things, though he would not miss them if they were taken away. She returns moments later and sets to work dressing him, a task he has no issues doing himself, but he says nothing. He knows his mother wants him to be just so, knows that she wants to make a good impression on the Æsir, though how well that will go, Loki knows not. He is not exactly known for his social skills, after all; and of course there is the matter of his previous encounter with Thor.

He sighs and watches in the looking glass as Nál-Queen dresses him in flowing silks and an accent of fur around his waist, where the majority of his covering is concentrated. There are several gold pieces that his mother brings out once she has positioned and repositioned the cloth around his hips, pieces that Loki only wears during special celebrations. He groans quietly, because though he loves those particular pieces of jewelry, he does not love taking them off and putting them away. Somehow, they always manage to tangle and as a result, Loki has to _untangle_ them. However he does not complain as Nál begins to adorn him. Soon enough she deems him ready and takes a step back to examine her work once again.

With a nod, she reaches forward to adjust one of the earrings that dangle to his shoulders, barely brushing his skin, before she speaks. “You look stunning, little one.” Nál glances at the window, judging the height of the morning sun in the sky and turns back to Loki. “We must be going now. The Æsir will be arriving soon and your father must be wondering where we are."

With a reluctant sigh, Loki nods in agreement. He lets his resignation settle over him as they leave the chamber. It is not that he has accepted the situation and all of its implied unpleasantries, it is that he has no choice in the matter. The Æsir are coming whether he likes it or not and there is nothing else to it. However, he has decided that he will not spend anymore time in their presence than is strictly necessary; the feasts are mandatory, his father has made that all too clear, however, the rest of the days are his to do with as he pleases.

It is not long before Nál-Queen is opening the heavy doors and they are entering the Great Hall. Fárbauti’s own court fills the room, each and every individual dressed in their finest, though Loki is sure the Æsir will be considerably more covered; traditional Jӧtun garb is rather revealing. The men, women, and a few children watch with quiet murmurs as their queen and prince make their way to join their king, and Loki holds his chin high. He will give them no to reason to doubt him, standing at his full height, which on its own really is not all that impressive. Not only is he fending off the gazes of the courtiers, whose eyes are so much more critical than those on the streets, but he is fending off his father’s and his brothers’ as well, all searching for the flaws in his armor. Býleistr, as always wears a contemptuous sneer, no doubt mocking Loki’s appearance in his mind, while Helblindi looks slightly bored, fidgeting a bit, eyes flickering around the room. Though it is Fárbauti’s gaze that Loki is most interested in as he meets his father’s eyes; they are cool, almost detached, but it seems as if there is a glimmer of pride along the edges.

Nál-Queen takes her place by her husband’s side, Loki between his brothers. Helblindi is still fidgeting, and it makes Loki nervous, fingers twitching slightly at his sides, and Býleistr leans down to sneer something in his ear that he does not hear over the sound of the great doors opening and the pounding of his own blood.

The Æsir have arrived.


	2. In Which Loki Does Some Growing UP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite what he had told his mother, even after his fast is broken, Loki is still feeling unwell. The heat burning in the pit of his stomach has not ebbed and now his body feels hot, as if he has a fever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings, one and all!
> 
> I am so sorry that it's taken me this long to update. It's been so crazy lately with the end of the semester coming up faster than I expected. Anyhow, this chapter isn't as long as the first one, but I'm pleased with the way it turned out. 
> 
> Just a heads up, I did not edit this before posting, so I'm hoping things are grammatically correct and spelled properly. If any of you find mistakes, don't hesitate to let me know and I'll go back and fix what needs fixing. 
> 
> As always comments are always welcome.
> 
> -EverBeenToSpace

Loki is suddenly as fidgety as Helblindi when the first of the All Father’s court begin streaming into the hall. First are the sentries, two carrying the banner of Odin, the rest the banners of the prominent members of his court. It seems to Loki as if the procession will never end before the nobility are flowing in, dressed in silk and satin and gold and jewels. And then he spots the king, surprised by how old the man looks, hair and beard grey, face lined with age. Loki’s own father looks young by comparison, hair still dark, face smooth save the runes that cross his skin. Odin’s queen is by his side, a gentle smile on her face that reminds Loki so much of his own mother. Their glances meet and he has to look away, unsure why exactly. Gathering his wits, Loki looks up once more and finally sights Thor; he is talking quietly with a young man, perhaps in his late adolescents, Helblindi’s age he thinks. The boy must be Thor’s brother, he realizes after a moment, but for the life of him, Loki cannot remember his name. 

Eventually, the All Father’s court have all arrived, and as Odin and his family move through the crowd of Æsir and Jӧtnar alike, Loki cannot help wondering who has been left to rule in the aged king’s wake. Perhaps Frigga will be returning to her kingdom shortly, will keep things in check while her husband and sons take care of business here in Jötunheimr. It is a likely possibility, Loki can think of no other fit enough to watch over Ásgarð in the king’s absence than his own queen. 

Loki is snapped from his musings when he finds the All Father and Lady Frigga standing before Fárbauti King, greetings being exchanged. He cannot keep his eyes from flickering to the golden son, and he is met with a hard glare that he readily returns. The younger boy, who looks so much like Thor, though his hair is brown rather gold, looks between the Jӧtun prince and his brother, his expression confused and curious, and Loki drops his gaze, choosing to focus on the kings’ greetings. 

“My family thanks you for your hospitality, Fárbauti-King,” Odin is saying, head bowed in respect. “May I introduce my wife and queen, Lady Frigga, as well as our two sons, Thor, the eldest and my heir, and Balder, the youngest.” As the All Father speaks, each bows their head in greeting. Thor, Loki notices, more reluctantly than his mother or brother. 

“And my family welcomes you, All Father,” Fárbauti answers, voice cool and clear. “I introduce my wife and queen, Nál, and our three sons, Býleistr, our eldest and my heir, Loki, our middle child, and Helblindi, our youngest.” Loki bows his head in greeting when his name is spoken, keeping his eyes firmly on Thor’s while he does. 

That is the extent of his attention, however, because afterward, the members of each court introduces their families. For the time being, Loki is free to wander the plains of his mind. One thing keeps blocking his path and the third time it happens, he cannot seem to get around it; it is obvious that Thor had not gone to his father about what had transpired in the gardens of Glaðsheimr those moons ago, however, should Loki make a false step around him, will he? Would the Golden Son be so willing to start war over such a petty argument? The Jӧtun prince risks a glance at the blond man, trying his best to judge his character, but he cannot say. By their former meeting, Loki might say yes, however, the fact that he had not gone running to his father after their first encounter, and then the second, tells him otherwise. Frustrated, he scowls at the Ásgarðian prince, looking away when his gaze is met. 

~

Finally, the formalities are over and the feast begins; and despite what he had told his mother, even after his fast is broken, Loki is still feeling unwell. The heat burning in the pit of his stomach has not ebbed and now his body feels hot, as if he has a fever. He sits quietly in his place between Býleistr and Helblindi, ignoring his older brother’s sneers and jibes, tuning out the loud talking and festivities as he picks at his meal. He cannot help noticing, however, the way the Æsir and Jӧtnar seem to be getting on, the court mingling and speaking and laughing amongst themselves, sharing lore and tales of battle. Even Fárbauti, Odin, Nál, and Frigga seem to be getting along well. Sighing, Loki returns his attention to the food on his plate, finishing it slowly.

When he thinks he has been present long enough that he will not be missed, he excuses himself. Standing, he offers his mother a nod and turns to leave. He can feel her concerned gaze on his back as well as another. Glancing over his shoulder, he catches Thor watching him with hard eyes and bristles, snapping his head forward and holding his chin high. Let the arrogant prince watch him, Loki does not care, even if the feeling of his gaze over his body makes his skin crawl. 

Once he is out of the hall, Loki relaxes considerably, though the fire in his belly is still raging and causes him to grimace. Perhaps he should speak with Mother or one of the healers about the sensation, it could be the symptom of an illness… Brushing the thought away with a barely audible snort, the prince makes his way to the library. He considers himself fortunate that as he walks he does not come across another soul, the servants all working in the kitchens or serving in the hall to keep the feast afloat. In his current mood, Loki thinks he may have yelled at any person who had tried to stop him, the sensation in his belly making him irritable and prickly. 

In the library, the towering shelves and stacks of books all around him, Loki relaxes considerably more, though the heat seeping through his body like background noise does not rest. Sighing, he pads through the shelves, the only sound the swish of silk and fur, and the gold adornments around his body jangling, echoing in the silence. As he wanders the maze of shelves, the prince slowly gathers book after book until his arms are full and ache from their collective weight. It is only then that he turns to exit his sanctuary. 

It is late afternoon by the time Loki winds through the halls toward his chambers and he can hear music and merriment filtering from the Great Hall. Now doubt his kin and the Æsir are well on their way to drinking themselves into bliss and he is glad to be taking no part of it. Besides, alcohol reduces his reaction time and severely affects his ability to call upon his seiðr. Those factors, in his opinion, make drinking a reckless activity. Should the palace come under attack, Loki would be caught completely unprepared to protect both himself and his family, and that is not worth it. 

Scoffing to himself, Loki finds his way back to his chambers, shutting the doors snugly and locking them; he is in no temper to be socializing further today. Inside, he sets his cargo of books gently on the table near the bed before sinking to the floor. He pulls his knees up to his chest and presses his forehead against them, ignoring the way the gold ornaments dig into his skin and bone at the action. The young Jӧtun feels dreadful, his body hot and his hands trembling. And then he shifts, the smooth silk rubbing against his thighs then brushing softly against something he had not even felt develop. 

Startled, Loki stands quickly and begins removing the fur and cloth from around his waist until it is pooled around his ankles. Moving to the looking glass, his eyes scan over his body, pointedly avoiding the cause of his discomfort until it is the only place he has not looked. Finally, his gaze lands on the erection curved between his legs and he grits his teeth. He now knows what is wrong with him and it has Loki’s cheeks flushing. The prince knows it is nothing to be ashamed of, all female and intersex Jӧtnar go through a sort of heat—though that word is not one that many like to use, misliking the implications it has to animals—and Loki had known it was only a matter of time before he should start his own, it has been long since he had first bled. However, he is not pleased with the current situation, not pleased that he is going through this new period in his life while the All Father and his court are within the walls of his home. And more than anything, he is not pleased with the lack of control he is feeling now, hard and flushed as he stands before the looking glass. How other Jӧtnar go through with this, manage it, Loki does not know. But the answer is painfully obvious; other Jӧtnar have mates to ease them through the discomfort. 

Growling under his breath, Loki moves to the bed and lays, trying his hardest not to throw himself down, not to act like a petulant, spoiled child. Staring at the ceiling, he does his best to ignore the erection that rests heavily against his belly. When it becomes apparent that it is not going to leave him be until he brings it upon himself to do something, the uncomfortable heat making his fingers tremble and his heart flutter a bit too quickly, the prince sighs and allows his eyes to slip closed. 

Reluctantly, he slides his hand down until his palm brushes lightly along his shaft, clenching his jaw at the jolt it sends up his spine. After a moment, the prince takes himself in hand, grip loose as he gives long, slow strokes, breath hitching slightly with each movement. It has been a while since Loki last touched himself, and it takes a moment before he finds just the right rhythm that brings little gasps from his lips. He can feel the fire in his belly spread through his body and his cock twitches slightly in his hand as his quim gives a needy throb. It has Loki moaning lowly, free hand sliding down his abdomen and behind his testicles, fingers quickly finding the wet folds of his cunt where his perineum should have been had he been born strictly male.

Loki’s eyes roll back slightly, mouth dropping open in another, noticeably louder moan as he slides one then two fingers into himself easily. The hand around his shaft tightens its grip enough to have his hips arching, causing the digits he already has inside himself to slip deeper. Clenching his teeth at the sensation, Loki takes a moment to compose himself before he begins properly, starting off slowly to remind himself what he likes; it has been much too long since he has done this.

Lips parted to drag in shallow breaths, the prince moves his fingers slowly, his hand following not long after. It comes back to him easily, the movements and sensitive places, and within minutes, Loki is sweating, little moans and gasps dripping from his lips. Loki curls his fingers inside his quim, dragging the tips of them along its top wall as his other hand twists around his shaft, thumb massaging over his head when he reaches the tip, smearing the pre-come over his flesh. He lets out a low moan when he feels his orgasm building up more quickly than he expects and he can barely hold himself back. Mouth dropped open wider, Loki’s back arches and he squeezes his eyes shut, fingers and hand moving faster until he can handle it no longer. With a shudder and a high keen, the prince drops over the edge, orgasm flooding through his body all at once. 

When he comes down from his high, collapsing limply against the mattress, Loki feels the semen on his abdomen and the slick on his fingers; and though it leaves him sticky and feeling the need to bathe again, the heat in his body is beginning to ebb and for the time being he feels better. He shudders when he slips his fingers slowly out of himself, letting out a heavy breath when they are free and he is suddenly empty. Bringing his hand up, he watches the way the slick fluid glistens wetly in the late afternoon sun filtering through his windows. And as he does a weight settles uncomfortably on his chest, as if a boulder has been set there.

Wiping his hands on the covers, Loki rolls onto his stomach, uncaring of the mess he smears onto himself and the bed, and presses his face into the furs, eyes stinging. He realizes that he will never have a mate to help ease him through these times, to sooth him through his heat. His womb will never carry a child. He will be alone until his end, because he is too small to take a Jötun mate. The sudden weight on his chest lifts and a ragged sob rips through him. Loki does not know why he is thinking about this now, why it is upsetting him so much; perhaps it is because this is the time his body longs to be touched by another, when he longs to feel sated and warm and on his way to carrying a child. He loathes the feeling with all of his being, wishes for the first time in his life that he were completely male and not in some limbo between the sexes.

Loki folds into himself, arms curled around his empty womb, and lets the emotion wash through him, tears staining new markings into his cheeks. He cries until his chest hurts and he is exhausted, the sun sinking below the horizon. And then he sleeps, crawling under the furs, the only evidence to be found that he is even on the bed a long black braid adorn with jewels and his elegantly curving horns. The prince does not even remove the gold from his body, ignoring the way it digs into his wrists, ankles, and forehead.

If he could have, Loki would sleep until the end of time, but it is not to be. He wakes hours later, his chambers dark, save the stars glittering in the sky. The uncomfortable burning in his belly is beginning again and he has never felt lonelier in his life. Before now, he had never considered himself one to long for a mate, but his body is betraying him. He ignores the sensation in his core and presses his face into the furs, falling back asleep. 

~

When he wakes to the early morning sun across his face, he is painfully hard and simply moving sends a jolt through his body, bringing a moan to his lips. Cursing under his breath, he rolls onto his stomach, face pressed into the lush furs as he forces a hand between himself and the mattress. He just wants this to be over, he does not want to be reminded of his empty womb or his obvious lack of mate. As he strokes himself quickly, simply wanting relief, tears run down his cheeks, soaking into the fur and silk covers, and he bites his lips to keep from making any noise, stifling sobs and moans alike. It does not take long before Loki reaches his pinnacles, falling into his orgasm with a gasp.

Laying limply in the mess of semen, hot under the blankets, the prince trembles and pants, tears still rolling down his flushed cheeks. It takes several minutes before Loki forces himself up; he needs to bathe and get his bedding changed. He stands and strips the gold from his body and the jewels from his hair, undoing his braid as he does. Naked, loose hair brushing his lower back, Loki walks slowly to his chamber doors, opening them to allow the servants in. It has been long since he has had them change the bedding, usually having no qualms about changing them himself. However, for the time being, he is in no state, mentally or physically to be traversing the palace halls, especially with the Æsir wandering about. And the gods only knew what Loki would do should he stumble into Thor Odinson. No, it is best that he confines himself to his chambers until he is feeling more himself. 

In the bathing room, Loki rinses himself off before filling one of the large soaking tubs, scenting the water with his favorite mint oil. The combination of the water and the oil seem to help relax his tense muscles. As he soaks, up to his chin, hair floating gently around him, the prince stares out the large windows that overlook the barren tundra of Jötunheimr. Judging by the height of the sun, it is still early, the rest of the palace more than likely still asleep or drowsy after yesterday’s merrymaking. And so Loki basks in the silence of the morning that only comes when the sun is rising and allows the bath to work the knots from his shoulders.

Once he feels sufficiently clean, the Jötun prince dries himself and returns to his chambers. He finds the bed freshly made, the room tidied slightly, gold bangles and jewels still where he left them on one of the small tables near the bookshelf. Not bothering to dress, he crawls under the new covers, burrowing into them. They smell fresh and it lulls him back to sleep.

~

Loki wakes again to a knock on his door, the sun at its peak. Groaning, he rolls onto his back, pushing his tangled hair away from his face. He does not want to be awake, feeling his heat come over him again as his mind is roused further.

“Come…” he calls, voice cracking as if he has not used it in days. Loki clears his throat and sits up slightly as the door opens. 

Nál steps in and Loki can see the worried line between her brows. He knows his mother will understand what he is going through, but he cannot help being embarrassed, even just a little bit. She move to sit on the edge of the bed and strokes Loki’s hair away from his face. 

“You are unwell, sweetling,” she murmurs, voice soft and gentle. Nál presses the back of her hand against his forehead, brow furrowing deeper when she feels how warm he is. “What is the matter? And do not say nothing, Loki; I know when you are not well.” 

With a sigh, Loki slumps into the pillows and he can feel his cheeks flushing. He really has no choice, the look on her face makes that perfectly clear. It has been many years since he has felt this way, reluctant to tell his mother why he is acting oddly or not feeling well. The last it happened was when he first bled. Nál had of course told him that it would happen sooner or later, that it would mark the beginning of a time when his body could carry a child. But when it actually happened, when he had stripped to bathe little more than four years before only to find blood trickling down his thighs, he had been mortified. He had locked himself in his chambers, refusing to unlock the door for anyone. When finally his mother coaxed him into letting her in, Loki had been in tears. 

Chewing his lips, the prince fiddles with a bit of fur before finally speaking. “Mother, I’ve started my heat,” he says bluntly, cheeks flushing more, eyes stinging with emotion. 

He hears Nál let out a distinctly relieved sigh before she pulls him against her side. She stokes Loki’s hair, kissing the crown of his head.

“I knew it was only a matter of time,” his mother murmurs. “You are handling it better than I thought. The first is always the hardest, it will get easier.”

A hiccup of a sob escapes his chest and Loki sags a bit into the pillows, bringing a hand to his face. “How, Mother? How will it get easier?” he manages, voice raw and thick. “I will never take a mate; I am too small. No one can help me through this.” His hand moves to clutch his hair in frustration, limbs trembling with the effort to keep himself composed. 

Loki hears his mother sigh before he feels her pull him close. He lets her, pressing his face into her shoulder, crying as his composure crumbles. “Oh, my child,” Nál murmurs, “I am so sorry. It will be difficult for you, I knew it would be the day you were born.”

That does nothing to comfort the Jötun prince as the sobs wreck his body. He feels like a tiny child, crying into his mother’s bosom, as she coos and soothes him. How could the gods be so cruel, he finds himself wondering. What has Loki done to deserve this? Why was he born tiny and weak, caught between the sexes, damned to never carry a child, never have a mate to call his own?

Loki cries until he no longer can, Nál holding him close all the while. When his breath has returned to normal and his body has stopped trembling, he shifts away from his mother slightly, wiping at his swollen eyes. He does not remember the last time he cried so much for so long. It must have been when he was a child, perhaps a bit younger than Helblindi, when Bỳleistr had been particularly cruel to him. Loki had, of course, retaliated; however, his older brother’s words and actions had hurt immensely. That had been a time when he had gone straight to Mother, ruby eyes brimmed with fat tears. 

Now, as he gathers himself, Loki sits up, keeping the blankets covering himself and pushing his messy hair away from his face. He is exhausted and hungry, but still in no state to be leaving his chambers. His stomach gives an angry growl and the prince cringes, wrapping his arms around his abdomen in an attempt to quell the sound. Glancing at his mother, he offers a sheepish look before staring down at the fur throws covering his bed. They are fine and soft and an excellent distraction from the fact that he is starving, the heat is beginning to rise again, and Nál still sits with an arm around his shoulders. 

Sniffling a bit, Loki offers her a weak smile, finally speaking. “I apologize for the way I spoke to you. You were only trying to comfort me and I was being inconsolable,” he says, breaking the silence. Loki glances up at her and catches his gentle smile. 

“There is no need for apologies, little one,” she says, brushing her son’s cheek. “This is a difficult time, I understand. And for you…” She trails off with a sigh. After a moment, Nál shakes her head and gives Loki a smile. “But enough about that for now. Why don’t I go fetch us a bite to eat? I know an excellent tea that will help ease your discomfort. Your father wishes for you to attend the feast this evening.” 

His mother’s first offer has Loki nodding with a smile, but as she continues speaking, the expression slowly drops and he groans loudly, burying himself beneath his fresh covers. The last thing Loki wants to do right now is sit through another feast that gives both Odin’s and Fárbauti’s courts the excuse to drink and make fools of themselves. No, what he wants to do, what is the wise thing to do, is confine himself to his bed and do nothing more than sleep, read, and give himself release when his heat becomes too much to handle for the next week or so.

“I don’t suppose I have a choice, do I?” Loki sighs, peeking up at Nál from under the safety of his blankets. “Will you tell him that I am ill? That I cannot attend because of it?” His voice sounds hopeful, however, he holds very little of the sentiment within himself; once his father has given an order, nothing can be done to change it. 

And it is no surprise when his mother shakes her head with an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid not, dear one,” she says, standing. “He was rather insistent. I will be back with our food.” Nál pauses at the door. “Things will get easier with time, Loki, you will see.”

~

The tea helps considerably, though it tastes foul, and Loki drinks a cup in the morning when he breaks his fast and in the evening when he sups with his family and the All Father’s. Mercifully, by the third day, the feasting has come to an end and these meals are quiet, though Helblindi and Balder seem to have taken a liking to one another and chat in hushed tones. Though, that is about the only act of mercy the gods show the Jötun prince; five days after the start of his heat, the tea no longer helps to ease his turmoil and it becomes unbearable. Loki locks himself in his chambers and refuses to open the doors for anyone, not even his mother. He does not eat, he does not read, he does nothing but sleep and give himself release when he needs, every movement sending a jolt through his body and bringing a moan to his lips. 

~

By the end of the experience, eight days after it begins, the furs and blankets have been kicked onto the floor, he has ruined the sheets and his hair is a matted mess.

~

It is another two days before Loki feels well enough to finally leave his chambers, and he finds himself in the library. He has missed the smell of parchment and ink.

The outing, however, turns out to be a very large, very blond mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that just happened. This chapter should be called "In Which The Rating Jumps From Teen To Explicit In The Blink Of An Eye."
> 
> EDIT: I should also clarify that in this particular universe, Loki is about the equivalent of a seventeen year-old, Helblindi and Balder are about thirteen, Byleistr is about nineteen or so, and Thor is around twenty. I don't plan on putting the underage warning up when things really do start happening since there's really not that much of an aged difference, but if it's going to bother anyone, let me know and I'll change that.


	3. In Which Thoughts Are Spoken With Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki begins leaving flowers for Thor. He feels a fool every time he leaves one, confident that Thor will have no idea the meanings behind the flowers. However, some small part of him hopes and he continues, a bit unsure of his actions; he has never gone out of his way to court anyone after all. He is not even sure Thor will know the flowers are from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses for taking so long to post this chapter. I am so sorry, my dear readers! I start work tomorrow, but I will try my very hardest to get the next chapter posted in two or three weeks. I know I said that last time, but this time, I'm telling the truth, cross my heart and hope to die. 
> 
> I know this chapter is short, I apologize for that as well, but hopefully you all enjoy it. I did very little editing, so if any of you find errors, don't hesitate to drop me a comment and I'll fix them as soon as I can. 
> 
> As always, enjoy!
> 
> -EverBeenToSpace

The library is the last place Loki expects to find Thor Odinson, yet there he is, sitting in Loki’s spot, nose buried in a book. It takes everything in his power to keep his mouth shut as he stalks past the Ásgarðian prince, keeping his eyes forward and his jaw set. He knows Thor watches him pass, hearing the rustle of the pages of his book as he sets it down. The sound of heavy boots against the polished stone floor follows him into the towering shelves and as it continues, Loki’s nerves are strained until they snap. 

He whirls around to face Odinson, loose hair spraying around him and teeth bared. He must look feral, for Thor stops, eyes widening a bit in surprise. It does not shock him, the other prince’s reaction; Loki’s hair is wild and unbraided, hanging past his elbows, green linen wrapped loosely around his waist. He is not dressed as the Ásgarðian is used to seeing. 

“What?” Loki hisses, keeping his voice low. Despite his efforts, his voice reverberates around them. “What could you possible want?” Judging by the look on Thor’s face, the prince is offended and Loki cannot help sneering. 

“I simply wanted to make sure you are well,” the Golden Son says, brows furrowing, and Loki can see that he is frustrated. “I have not seen you in several days and no one would tell me what had become of you.”

Loki crosses his arms over his chest and stares at the other man with hard eyes. “Are those words your own, or did my mother tell you to speak to me?” he asks, and when Thor looks distinctly guilty, Loki laughs. “I have been…unwell.” When he finishes speaking, he turns and pads down the aisle, examining the spines of the books. 

It strikes Loki that the Ásgarðian prince’s concern, forced though it may be, and his frustration is endearing. He scoffs and snatches a book from the shelf in front of him before returning to the main seating area. Thor is once again sitting in the young Jötun’s usually spot and he huffs, taking the chair across from the Ásgarðian. He ignores the other prince, despite Thor’s obvious staring, as he pulls his legs under himself and cracks the spine of his book. It is clear that this particular volume has not been read in some years, the cloud of dust that plumes from the pages is impressive. It causes Loki to sneeze, waving a hand in front of his face to dissipate the haze. Ignoring the chuckle from across the short table, he begins to read, immersing himself in the history of the Nine Realms.

Before he realizes it, the day has trickled away and Loki is nearly finished with the tome. Never before has he read a version of the history he grew up listening to quite like this. When he pulls his eyes away from the aged parchment, finally returning his attention to his surroundings, the daylight is waning and Thor is nowhere to be found. Loki sets his book down, saving his place with a ribbon he conjures, and stretches, hearing his spine pop. He wonders idly when Thor left, glancing at the blond man’s previous spot. An irritated noise escapes his throat when he sees Thor had not been bothered to return his books to their proper shelves. 

Standing, Loki gathers the abandoned volumes as well as his own, glancing at the titles before turning to the shelves. He is not surprised by most of Thor’s chosen reading materials, the majority of the volumes about Jötun weapons and war stories, however, one has him puzzled; it is a volume about seiðr. Loki does not know whether or not he should worry that the Ásgarðian prince is versing himself in magicks. Of course, he may be versed, and he may possess Mjölnir, but Thor is no match, the Jötun prince tells himself. So he brushes it off and returns the books to their shelves, keeping his own read in his arms to finish reading later that night.

Loki returns to the sitting area to be sure he has not forgotten anything and finds Thor looking about. When his eyes meet Loki’s, the blond man straightens his back and squares his shoulders. He clenches his jaw as Thor approaches. 

“Your mother sent me,” Odinson announces. “She says you are to make yourself presentable for tonight’s dinner.”

Loki ignores Nál’s request from Thor’s lips. “Did you not remember where you found your books or were you simply too lazy to return them to their places?” he demands, unsure why he picks a fight when it is not necessary. His heart beats a little bit faster when Thor’s mouth parts a bit several times, and he tells himself it is frustration and nothing more. 

It is several moments before Thor manages to gather himself enough to respond. “I apologize,” he says sincerely enough. “I was not aware I was responsible for returning them. I will be sure to do so next time.”

Loki has no reply, mildly surprised by such an amiable response on Thor’s behalf. He can only nod and turn to leave. Perhaps he has been wrong about the Ásgarðian prince. He is arrogant to be sure, but he seems to have his manners in check. If it is because of his mother’s efforts, he is yet to decide. 

In the corridor, Loki adjusts the book in his arms and fixes the linen around his waist, pulling it up and retying it before striding toward his chambers; he needs to make himself presentable for dinner after all. 

~

Loki enters the dining hall on time and finds his family and Thor’s already gathered at the table. He can feel the eyes on him as he takes his place and he cannot stand it. It comes as a surprise when Býleistr does not give him an insult when he sits. 

The atmosphere is rather tense, and Loki cannot figure out why. He wonders if something went sour with the All Father’s and Fárbauti-King’s negotiation. Though, if that is the case, Loki thinks the All Father and his sons would have already returned to Ásgarð and the All Mother. It is something else, then; he has been bedridden for several days, perhaps something occurred while he had been absent. Whatever the reason, Loki does not enjoy not being in the know, and he huffs testily into his drink. 

It takes Loki several minutes before he realizes that the tension is coming solely from Thor, the blond man stiff, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. What has gotten into Odinson, he does not know, but his mood fills the hall like a storm, putting everyone present on edge. It makes Loki want to slam his fists on the table and demand to know what tribulation could possibly have him so distraught. He bites his tongue, however, and busies himself with his meal, attempting to block out the uneasy charge in the air; it is none of his business why the Golden Son is so anxious, and he sees no need to worry himself over it. And why is Loki even considering worrying over Thor in the first place? He does not even like the other prince, he remind himself. 

The thoughts wind Loki up more than Thor’s mood and he pushes his plate away angrily before standing abruptly. Both families look up at him in surprise, Odinson included, and Loki bids them all a curt good evening and offers Thor a frustrated glare. When he as excused himself, Loki turns on his heel, ignoring his mother’s protests as he stalks out of the hall. 

In the corridor, he growls under his breath and tugs one of his plaits in vexation. Býleistr frequently gets under his skin, but never so severely as Thor Odinson. They have barely had contact with one another and yet Loki finds the man provoking him in ways not even people who have known him for years can. Thor has really done nothing; certainly, he left his books rather than putting them away, many do so, but for some reason Thor doing it irritates him most. 

More worked up than ever, Loki storms down the corridor to his chambers, thanking the gods that no one stops him to chat or query about what is wrong. 

~

The weeks pass and negotiations between the two kings appear to be going well. As the time goes by, Loki grows accustom to Thor’s company in the library, though the princes largely ignore one another. Thor is quick to learn the organization of the shelves, returning his books once he has finished with them and Loki shows his gratitude every now and then by leaving him a book he will find interesting. And though Thor still continues to claim his spot, Loki discovers another he finds he likes better near the window on the other side of the space. 

By the end of the second week of this routine, Loki dares to admit to himself that he is perhaps growing fond of the blond man. It is not something he will ever disclose aloud though, there would be no point; he knows negotiations are drawing to an end, the Æsir will remain for perhaps another two weeks. It would be foolish of Loki to allow himself to grow attached to the Ásgarðian when he knows he will be leaving soon. 

The Jötun prince sighs as he thinks about it, unable to focus on the sloppy drawing he is working on. Instead, he sets his notebook and charcoal aside, resting his head back against the tree he sits beneath. The grass feels rough against his skin compared to the grasses of Glaðsheimr’s garden. The plants in his garden come from southern Jötunheimr, where it is warm enough for vegetation to grow, and the mountains of a few other realms. However, they are tough and all but the flowers are ugly, at least compared to Glaðsheimr. Loki sighs in longing to return to those lush gardens, but he knows it is unwise. The magick he has to use to not only get himself into Ásgarð, but also keep himself a blur in the Gate Keeper’s Sight is almost more than he has. Loki has traveled to Ásgarð this way several times, and each return leaves him exhausted, sleeping well into the next day. 

Footfall through the tough grass catches Loki’s attention and he spies Thor walking alongside Odin, the two speaking quietly with one another. Odinson has a pinched expression, his blond brows drawn so close together they nearly touch. Loki wonders what they are discussing, but thinks it wise if he excuses himself. He gathers his belongings and stands silently, leaving the greenhouse without a sound.

Loki spends the remainder of the day in the library. He continues drawing, thinking as he does. It is a number of minutes before he catches himself wondering if Thor will join him at all. The thoughts frustrate him and he wrinkles his face, focusing solely on his drawing. Loki has noticed that his thoughts seem to be straying to the blond prince more frequently, and every time they do, he finds the ghost of a smile haunting his lips. 

With the sun sinking below the horizon and his thoughts determinedly distracted from Thor, Loki returns to his chambers. It is only when his stomach growls loudly as he is closing his heavy doors that he realizes he had not been summoned to dinner that evening. It is rare that they are left to themselves to retrieve their own meals. Loki assumes it is because the kings’ meeting ran late. 

Sighing, he runs a hand through his loose hair, fingers catching on a few knots, before he adjusts the plain silk robe around his body. He opens the door he has just closed and makes his way to the kitchen; there is bound to be food left over from the previous night’s dinner. While he thinks about what he is going to have with the cold meat and bread—perhaps he can find some fruit or, if he is very lucky, a pastry or two—a small voice interrupts with the suggestion that he may run into Thor in the kitchen. 

Growly in irritation that his thoughts have _once again_ strayed to the blond man, Loki takes a corner too sharply. He finds himself on the floor before he even realizes what he collided with, blinking dazedly. Whatever it is, it is solid and seems to be speaking to him. When he finally looks up, he finds none other than Thor standing over him with one large hand held out for him to take. The other prince’s brows are furrowed with concern and he is asking the Jötun if he is alright. Hesitating, he reaches for Thor’s hand, allowing the man to hoist him up as easily as if he weighs nothing. 

“I am fine,” Loki says once he is on his own two feet, trying to ignore how warm the large hand feels around his own or the way it leaves his skin tingling when they part. As he dusts himself off, he does not miss Thor’s relieved sigh or the way his shoulders relax visibly. “It was my fault to begin with; I was not paying attention and took the corner too quickly.” 

Loki looks up again once he has collected himself and is startled by Thor’s proximity. He swallows, so close to him that he can smell his skin, like ozone and lightning. Before Odinson has a chance to say anything, Loki offers a curt nod and a mumbled ‘excuse me’ before stepping around the obstacle in his path. He can feel Thor’s eyes on his back as he leaves and it takes all of his will power not to look back at him and give him a shy smile that is characteristically _not_ him. 

Rounding the next corner, Loki lets out the breath he had been holding and relaxes noticeably. He does not know what has gotten into him lately; he should be able to ignore Thor just as effectively as he does Býleistr, yet as of late, the mere mention of the Ásgarðian’s name sends a chill down his spine and an uncomfortable flutter in his stomach. He refuses to entertain the idea that he has grown fond of the man, that that is the cause of his jittery nerves and the way his skin flushes slightly when they are near one another. 

Loki pushes the thought away as he descends the stairs into the kitchen. He can hear a few of the servant girls giggling with one another, though he does not catch their words, for they quiet as soon as he enters the room. It is obvious that they are gossiping about Thor, the way they glance at one another and titter every few moments making that clear. While Loki is gathering his meal, one of the older cooks, having grown tired of listening to the girls’ foolishness, scolds them harshly. When the bolder of the two replies with a snide comment, he hears a sharp slap of something hitting skin, probably a wooden spoon, and a loud yelp. Loki turns back to them with his plate and sees one of the young Jötun servants cradling her bruised hand while her companion is diligently kneading the dough for the morning bread.

“You must forgive these silly girls, my prince,” the cook says, bowing his head in respect. “They are young and have obviously learned their manners.”

Loki waves it off and gives them all a small smile before bidding them a good night. The kitchen remains quiet as he ascends the steps except for the sound of dishes being washed and something being chopped on the wooden counter. 

~

It is two days after the incident in the corridor that Loki begins leaving flowers for Thor.

He feels a fool every time he leaves one, confident that Thor will have no idea the meanings behind the flowers. However, some small part of him hopes and he continues, a bit unsure of his actions; he has never gone out of his way to court anyone after all. He is not even sure Thor will know the flowers are from him. 

The first flower Loki leave is a yellow chrysanthemum. It feels slightly obvious, but that is what he is going for in the end; he wants Thor to know he has a secret admirer, though it would not be so secret if the prince put a little bit of thought into it. But what if he thinks it is from one of the serving girls in the kitchen? The way they had been giggling about him when Loki arrived leaves little doubt that they had done the same while Thor had been fetching his own supper. 

The thought has Loki huffing petulantly as he places the flower gently on the blond prince’s pillow. He does not enjoy that idea; in fact, it has his skin crawling. Perhaps this was a foolish plan, he thinks, hand hovering above the stem, pondering between taking it back and leaving it where it is. He does not have time to decide, it is late and Thor is bathing, there is no telling when he will be finished. If Loki leaves the flower, his feelings for Thor become solidified and so much more real than they already are; however, if he takes it with him, he will never know Thor’s reaction. It is true that there will be other opportunities to do this again, but he does not know if he will be able to work up the courage a second time, he may decide to shut down the feelings and avoid the other prince until he returns to Ásgarð.

Thor makes up his mind for him by opening the bathing chamber doors in a billow of steam, and Loki bolts, leaving the large room empty handed. He wants to stay and listen at the door, but his heart is racing in his throat and he takes every shortcut he knows back to his own chambers. 

Loki leaves a flower for Thor each evening, and each morning at breakfast, Thor has a wide smile on his face. The weather has been much nicer lately as well, and he associates that with the man’s jovial mood.

The second flower Loki leaves is a larkspur, though he will not admit aloud that he believes the Ásgarðian to have a beautiful spirit. It continues like this until the end of negotiations draws nearer, hyacinth, gladiolus, begonia, pansy, wisteria. It takes Loki that seven days to leave the last, most important flower, and his cheeks and ears feel hot as he stares down at it on Thor’s pillow.

The yellow tulip seems bright against the white of the linen pillow case, and Loki swallows quietly. He plans on revealing himself to the blond man on the morrow and this last flower is the final note. Taking a deep breath, and leaves the chamber, shutting the door softly behind himself. The deed is done and there is no turning back now. 

Loki sleeps very little that night and in the morning at breakfast, he is as flighty as a caged bird. He barely touches his food and avoids his mother’s concerned gaze, keeping his eyes on the berry his is rolling around on his plate and the way its juice is staining the tip of his finger a deep purple. 

When the meal concludes and they are excused, Loki is restless, unused to sitting through an entire meal time. He stands and falls behind Thor and Balder, the brothers unaware of his presence as they exit the hall. The two talk quietly with one another and Loki eavesdrops unashamedly. The do not talk about anything of interest until they reach the greenhouse. As they walk beneath the tough trees, the topic moves to the flower Thor has been receiving nightly and Loki can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Who do you suppose has been leaving them?” Balder wonders excitedly as they seat themselves on one of the many stone benches scattered about. 

Thor joins him with a shrug. “I am unsure,” he admits, and Loki creeps closer so he can hear more clearly. “Perhaps it is one of the serving girls from the kitchen. They seem to have taken a fancy to me.” He grins and nudges his brother in the ribs with an elbow. 

Bristling at the realization that the Golden Son is so completely unaware that _he_ is the one behind the nightly flowers, Loki steps out from behind the tree he is using as shelter. “ _I_ have been leaving you the flowers, you buffoon,” he announces clearly, eyes and voice hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You would not believe how difficult it was to find a reliable online source for the language of flowers. There are many different variations and in the end I found a website called aboutflowers.com. I'm not entirely sure how reliable it is, but it's what I used so...
> 
> According the the website, yellow chrysanthemums represent a secret admirer, larkspur represent a beautiful spirit, hyacinth represents sincerity, gladiolus represent strength of character, begonia represents deep thoughts, pansy represents loving thoughts, wisteria represents steadfast, and last but not least, the yellow tulip represents hopelessly in love. Again, I'm not sure how accurate any of that is, but it's the website I'll be using for the next chapters with the language of flowers. 
> 
> Again, I am so, so sorry for taking so long to get this updated, I have no good excuse for not updating when I was supposed to. Please forgive me, dear readers. 
> 
> -EverBeenToSpace


	4. In Which Regret And Respect Are Had

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For several weeks after the All-Father and his sons and their vanguard had left, Loki does everything he can to keep his mind off of Thor. The distractions work wonders during the day, keeping his mind busy; it is at night that he has difficulty not thinking about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers!
> 
> It's only a week late this time! I am so proud of myself! ...However, I typed most of this up after I took a Benadryl (I had some really weird allergic reaction and my knee got all swollen and splotchy, it's normal now though) so the typos might be...something. I did it for you, dear readers. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and as always, thank you for reading. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcome. And, even though I'm a bit terrified at the sheer amount of typos I'm sure there are, if you spot any, please let me know so I can fix them. I still haven't gotten around to fixing the last chapter, but I will, cross my heart. I should have the next chapter up in three weeks or so.
> 
> -EverBeenToSpace

Loki has never used his seiðr to escape within the walls of his own home; however, when he finds himself standing before Thor and Balder, both with their mouths open, he is mortified. Before either Ásgarðian has the chance to say a word, he is gone. The act makes him feel more a fool as he stumbles to the foot of his bed, cursing himself aloud. 

That did not go anything like he had planned and Loki swears again loudly. He had wanted to confront Thor in private, admit that it had been he who left the flowers. It should have been obvious; who else in the palace knows about flowers or the spells to pull them from thin air, to form them from memory and drawings in books? Loki huffs in annoyance and moves to sit heavily on the window seat, thinking over everything. 

Upon closer inspection, it is entirely possible that Thor would know none of that. Yes, the Ásgarðian knows Loki has a fondness for flowers, that he is the most powerful mage in the entire realm, capable of things beyond imagination; however, what reason has he given the other prince to suspect him? Loki has not exactly been blunt about his affections, offering Thor only glares and frustrated stares. They have barely spoken to one another, and when they have, Loki keeps his distance, perhaps coming off as cold. Which, he supposes, was the objective; what was the point of starting any sort of relationship when Thor was going to be returning to Ásgarð sooner rather than later and they would likely not see one another for several years, perhaps even decades?

The realizations make Loki feel even more foolish and he pulls on one of his braids in frustration. This whole infatuation with Thor is just a product of his recent heat, he tells himself, undoing and redoing the plaits in his hair. Thor is handsome, yes, with his muscular physique, golden hair, and kind smile and eyes, but the young Jötun is merely interested in him because he is the only person in Jötunheimr who has the potential of being a proper mate for a runt prince like Loki. It has nothing to do with the fact that Thor is interesting and intelligent in his own way; or how his skin smells like a thunder storm and is so warm that Loki can feel the heat radiating off of him if he stands close enough; or the way he moves so easily during combat training with Býleistr, proving to be an even match despite his opponent’s height advantage; or—

Loki has to cut himself off, feeling the blush creeping up his ears. It should not be this hard to convince himself of the truth, but some part of him he wishes would leave him be refuses to believe that it is true. He _has not_ grown overly fond of the Ásgarðian prince and he _will not_ act on this new feeling that is not fondness, Loki tells himself sternly, jaw set. 

~

During the remaining days leading to the end of the kings’ negotiations, Loki focuses on avoiding Thor at all costs. He goes to the library only very late at night or very early in the morning and does not linger for longer than it takes to find two or three interesting volumes. He does not go to the training yards to watch the warriors practice anymore. If a meal is left to them, he no longer ventures to the kitchens to fetch his own food, instead calling upon the servants to do it. During meals that _are_ spent together, he does not take his eyes from his plate and excuses himself early. And he certainly does not leave flowers for Thor anymore. It seems as if all of his time is going toward this and he had thought at first that keeping his distance would prevent him from feeling the way he has been, keep him from thinking of the Ásgarðian, but it only seems to make things worse than ever.

Now, every time Loki sees Thor, he feels a flutter in his chest and a blush rise to his cheeks. It is usually then that he ducks his head and walks the other direction. Loki has caught the blond prince watching him several times since their encounter and it never fails to fluster him. He wants to speak with him, but growing any closer to Thor would be a foolish move. 

It is two days before the Æsir are due to return to Ásgarð and Loki has shut himself in his chamber, in no temper to be out among the masses. There is to be a feast tonight after sundown and the next night as well, and he tells himself that is the reason his mood has taken on such a foul taste in his mouth. 

A knock comes to the door and Loki has to bite his tongue to keep from snapping at whoever is on the other side of the heavy wood. It could be his mother or his father, or even Odin—although, the All-Father has not once spoken to him since the Æsir arrived little over three fortnights earlier. However, at the same time it could be one of his brothers, or it could be Thor. It takes another rap of knocking for Loki to make up his mind. 

“Come,” Loki calls, bracing himself for the worst. When the door opens, it is Nál and he should not have expected anything else. 

She steps into the room, shutting the door softly behind herself, and gives him a smile. Loki realizes that he has not really spoken to his mother since his heat and cannot help feeling guilty. 

“Hello, dear one,” Nál greets, moving across the chamber to sit at the window. She looks to Loki and pats the spot beside her. “Come and sit with me; it has been too long since we last talked.”

Slowly, Loki crawls from his bed and joins her, gazing out the window. He cannot help noticing that the weather has grown bad, a storm on the horizon, and wonders if it is because Thor is displeased to have found out that it was him leaving the flowers or if he is displeased that he has stopped. As he thinks, Loki momentarily forgets Nál’s presence and stares out the window moodily until he feels her hand on his leg.

“What troubles you, Loki?” she asks, her brow creased with concern. “We have not had a chance to talk in several weeks; you must catch me up on recent happenings.”

Loki sighs and leans against the side of the bookshelf, not meeting his mother’s gaze. He really does not want to talk about these feelings he has developed for Thor. Talking about them will only make them that much more real. 

“It’s nothing, Mother,” he insists, knowing that he is not at all convincing; Nál knows him better than anyone. 

She watches him with gentle, calculating eyes and Loki ducks his head to avoid her gaze. “That is very interesting,” she finally says, reaching out to tilt his chin up, “because I heard rumor that you fancy the All-Father’s heir.” There is no judgment in her voice, only concern for his well-being. 

Loki blushes hard and stares down his nose at his hands, which wring the cloth around his waist. The only two people who could have told anyone about the incident in the greenhouse are Thor and Balder. Perhaps he had been so involved in the two brothers’ conversation that he had not noticed the presence of another. The though makes Loki’s stomach curdle slightly and he sets his jaw, refusing to confirm or deny these rumors. He knows his blush and lack of response is all the answer Nál needs to solidify these whispers as true, but he still says nothing aloud.

The moment Nál releases his chin, Loki stands and moves to the far bookshelf, running his fingers absently over the spines until he finds an old favorite. With the volume in hand, he moves to curl into the armchair near his bed. It is not often that he completely ignores his mother, and he has to push his guilt down. He does not want to discuss Thor or his feelings for him.

Loki hears Nál sigh and stand, hears her sit on the bed, though he wishes he did not hear her speak. 

“Come now, little one,” she murmurs, and Loki does not look up from the page of the book. “Why are you acting this way? Thor has been trying to speak with you for days. That’s all he wants to do, just talk.”

“No, Mother,” Loki says, voice hard. The words taste foul as they roll off his tongue and he hates taking this tone with Nál. “I will not speak with him.”

There is a pregnant silence and Loki refuses to break it, keeping his eyes firmly on the words before him, though he does not read them. Finally, his mother speaks. “Fine, Loki. But only two days remain before they return to Ásgarð, and I fear you will come to regret your decision if you do not speak to him.” She stands and stoops to kiss his forehead, between his horns. “Think about it.”

~

Loki does not.

The two days come and go, and he continues to avoid Thor. It had been difficult at the feast with the other prince actively searching him out. But he had managed, keeping the hall of Æsir and Jötnar between them. He had wanted to dance with Thor, spirits knew he did, but he could not let that happen. Being that close to the Thunderer, Loki knew he would have broken; he would have taken him to bed and would miss him all the more when he departes. 

And so, now Loki finds himself dressed in his finest furs, standing at the city gates with his family. He hates the way his heart feels heavy as he watches the Æsir vanguard leave across the tundra, hates that his mother had been correct about his regret. It should not come as a surprise that she was right, Nál is right about most things regarding him. 

He catches Thor looking back over his shoulder at him with sad and disappointed eyes. It makes Loki’s stomach clench and he has to pull his gaze away after a few moments. When he looks up once more, Thor has turned around, no longer watching him. A sudden flurry of wind sweeps across the plain, pulling at Loki’s furs; he knows this change in weather is due to the Thunderer. Since he has avoided him, snow storms and howling winds have become a nightly occurrence.

It is not long before the Æsir column is no longer visible. His family turns to return to the palace, however, Loki lingers, watching the snow slowly erase the footprints left behind. As she passes, Nál rests a hand on his shoulder and offers a sad, knowing smile. It does not help raise Loki’s spirits as he turns as well, the footprints lost in the snow.

~

For several weeks after the All-Father and his sons, and their vanguard had left, Loki does everything he can to keep his mind off of Thor. He throws himself into his studies, filling his mind with the knowledge of his ancestors. There are parts of the library he discovers during this time that he had not even know existed; secret reading rooms filled with ancient tomes, stairwells he has not found time to explore, doors with missing keys and runes carved into their wooden surfaces.

The distractions work wonders during the day, keeping his mind busy; it is at night that he has difficulty not thinking about Thor. Loki becomes distant—even more so—with his family, staying silent during meals, ignoring his brothers completely. Býleistr has all together stopped harassing him, and Loki wonders why he had not tried this sooner. He catches the concerned glances his mother gives him as he leaves the table every evening. It hurts, but Loki forces himself to ignore them. If he lets Nál talk to him, she will certainly bring up the Golden Son, and he is exactly the person Loki is trying to forget. 

The library remains his sanctuary, and with its newly discovered secrets, Loki finds himself there more often than not. He finds books thick with ancient spells and magicks, and his seiðr grows stronger as he practices. If Jötunheimr’s enemies could see him now, they would not dare start conflict with them. 

Slowly, the thoughts for the Ásgarðian prince dwindle and life returns to the way it had been before his arrival. Though Býleistr no longer bothers Loki with harsh words and rude comments. The weeks before had been unusually and unexplainably tense between them, filled with hard glares and curled lips. The breaking point had been a snide comment on his brother’s behalf, and Loki had lost his temper. 

They had been training in the yards when Býleistr had mocked Loki’s small, feminine physique and long hair, telling him that he had no place in the field of battle. Anger that had been pent up since they were much younger boiled over, and Loki had unleashed his seiðr on his brother for the first time in terms of combat training. Býleistr was lucky to be so agile, dodging the knives and flares of magick sent his way. Loki could see the genuine fear in his brother’s eyes; he had never witnessed this side of Loki before, no one had.

Suddenly, Býleistr was surrounded, each copy holding an elegant weapon in his hand. They had circled their brother like a predator, anger etched into each snarling face, and Býleistr was tense, eyes darting from one Loki to the next, unsure which one he should have been be watching. After a moment so thick it could have been cut with any weapon Loki held, he finally made his move. In a sudden blur of motion, all of the clones had vanished, leaving the real one already midair as he attacked. Though he was much smaller than his brother, the momentum of Loki landing squarely on his chest had brought Býleistr down heavily.

With a long dagger pressed to his brother’s throat, Loki had snarled, “Tell me again, brother, that I am not suited for combat.”

Since that moment Býleistr has treated him differently, respect and fear in his eyes. They train together more often now, Loki keeping his seiðr in check and his brother doing the same with his tongue. 

Though things have returned to normal, Loki still finds himself thinking of Thor from time to time. On one such occasion, he finds himself seated on the sill of a window in the library, the tome he had been reading forgotten on his lap as he gazes out over the city and the tundra beyond its walls. He does not even hear the approaching footfall, quiet as it may be, until a throat is cleared and he startles. When the prince looks up, he discovers Nál smiling down at him. 

“Mother,” he greets, returning the smile. He shifts his legs to make room for her, closing the book and setting it aside. “What a lovely surprise. Please, join me.”

Once she is seated, his mother watches him for a moment before finally speaking. 

“You miss him,” she murmurs with a knowing smile. “I can see it in your eyes when you think no one is watching. I was the same way after I had gotten to know your father. Did you know I could not stand him when we first met?” She laughs at Loki’s surprised expression. “I thought him dull; he was too serious for my taste. First impressions are not always the correct ones.”

Loki finds that difficult to believe; his first impression of Thor had been that the prince was arrogant and self-centered, both of which are true. But during the small amount of time they had spent together, he had discovered Thor to be rather kind and surprisingly intelligent. On top of that, Loki had actually enjoyed spending time with him, though it was spent mostly in silence. His first impression, however, still holds true.

He must make a face while he thinks because Nál laughs, patting him on the knee. "Sometimes they _are_ correct, sweetling,” she adds with a beautiful smile. “Your father is a very serious man, being in line for the throne, he had to be—”

“That sounds like something Býleistr needs to work on,” Loki grumbles, interrupting his mother. At the scolding look he receives, he offers a sheepish smile and ducks his head. “Please continue.”

“As I was saying,” Nál sniffs, though the smile playing on her lips betrays her, “while your father may be serious, I discovered that he is a joy to be with. He is well versed in literature and we had many interesting conversations. We still have interesting conversations, in fact.”

When she drops into a silence that grows around them, Loki plays with a long strand of hair. It is a little bit embarrassing discussing this with his mother, though he is surprised to know that his parents were not perfect from the beginning. 

“Why are you telling me this, Mother?” Loki finally asks, feeling the blush creeping up his cheeks. 

Nál simply offers that tricky smile of hers, the one that he has adopted, and shrugs. She stands, brushing the dust from the silk draped around her body. “Merely something for you to think about, sweetling,” she answers, leaning down and kissing Loki’s forehead between his horns. When she pulls away, she smiles again before turning and leaving. 

~

It is several moons after that that they, he and his family, receive an invitation from the All-Father for a harvest celebration. Loki feels his heart in his throat as he reads over it for the third time.


	5. In Which A Journey Is Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days leading up to their departure seem to fly by and before Loki knows it, it is the night before and his stomach is turning summersaults. He knows it will take several days to arrive in Ásgarð, but the nerves keep him up all night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings, dear readers!
> 
> Well, it's Thursday! I had every intention of posting this chapter last week...but I forgot to type it up from my notebook. I really have no excuses and I am sorry. But! I should have the next chapter posted on time for once, since I already have about half of it written. So expect the next chapter within the next two to three weeks. 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are welcome. I'm sure I have typos, so if any of you see something that needs fixing please don't hesitate to let me know! Enjoy!
> 
> -EverBeenToSpace

Though the harvest celebration is not for several moons more, Loki finds it on his mind constantly. What lucky fate is on his side that he should have another chance like this, he wonders as he lays in bed every night, unable to sleep. Perhaps the gods are watching over him after all. 

Already, Fárbauti-King is making arrangements and preparations for their travels. Wonderful gifts for the All-Father and his family are forged, and Loki finds himself fascinated by the magicks that are woven into the metals. During that period of preparation, he splits his time between studying in the library—exploring the hidden rooms and stairwells, discovering that he library he has grown up in is much vaster than he ever could have imagined—and learning to wave his seiðr into metals and wood and fabric. The work helps him to keep his mind off of the coming event and the prospect of seeing Thor again.

Though he has been trying to keep his mind from the Golden Son, Loki finds himself making the other prince a gift for the celebration; a magnificent crimson cloak that he embroiders with gold thread. He works on it in his spare time, meticulously stitching intricate designs into the red fabric. It is finished and wrapped carefully in silk and then tougher wool by the time Loki’s second heat comes on. 

Unlike his first heat, which started as a gradual, uncomfortable burning in the pit of his stomach, this time it starts suddenly and he feels as if he might vomit. Excusing himself from the breakfast table abruptly, he rushes from the hall without so much as an explanation, earning concerned looks from both his mother and his father. Running is perhaps not the best thing Loki should have done, for the first thing he does when he enters his chambers, barely making it to the polished stone bathing room, is empty the contents of his stomach. 

When he is sure there is nothing left for his body to retch up, Loki rinses his mouth and moves carefully to his bed, burying himself under the covers. He tries to ignore the slick way his thighs slide together whenever he so much as shifts and the way he is already hard. He ignores it until he cannot stand the heat, groaning into his pillows. Lip between his teeth, Loki shimmies out of the wrapping around his waist and, still on his stomach, cants his hips. Sucking in a deep breath, he makes himself comfortable before pressing a palm against his erection. 

Loki tries to be as quick about it as he can, fingers working inside while his hand works his cock. When he reaches his climax, his body shudders and he gasps into the pillows before collapsing, the mess he had made in the sheets smearing over his belly. Loki cannot bring himself to care as the tears start, soaking into the sheets and his hair.

Each release ends this way, the tears lasting until he falls asleep. His mother brings him food and the tea, which only seems to ease his heat fractionally. The routine continues like this for the remainder of the week and well into the next, and only a few times does Loki manage to drag himself out of bed to bathe and brush his hair. 

When his heat finally subsides, the date of the departure to Ásgarð is fast approaching and Loki has still yet to pack. Though he is not feeling completely recovered, he pulls himself to his wardrobe and begins sifting through his clothes. He is not sure what kind of attire will be expected of him in Ásgarð, just as he is not sure how he will fair in the warmer climate, so he chooses something of every style he owns. 

By the time Nál knocks on the door to check on him, Loki already has a large pile of clothing on his bed; he needs to be sure to have enough, they will be staying with the All-Father and his family for at least two moons.

His mother comes up behind him and rests and hand on his shoulder. “You should be resting, little one,” she murmurs with a gentle smile. “Why don’t you let me finish this.” 

Loki opens his mouth to protest, but the look he receives tells him there is no room for discussion. Sighing, he shuffles his feet and, grabbing his brush, curls up in his large armchair. He watches his mother sort through his clothes expertly, putting pack what is not needed and retrieving what is as he works the knots from his hair. And by the time she is finished, they are folded neatly and wrapped in silk and wool, much the same as Thor’s cloak. The bundles, three of them, sit on the nearest window seat. 

“What jewels do you wish to bring, sweetling?” Nál asks when she is done. 

Loki smiles and shifts, readjusting the silken robe around his body. “You know the ones I like, Mother,” he answers. 

When Nál is at last finished packing, Loki stands and embraces her, having to push up on the balls of his feet while she stoops in order to reach he shoulders properly. He thanks her profusely and kisses her cheek. They chat idly for a few minutes before Loki walks her to the chamber doors. 

“Thank you for your help, Mother,” he repeats before she leaves. It earns him a smile and a kiss on the top of his head. 

“You are very welcome, little one.”

~

The days leading up to their departure seem to fly by and before Loki knows it, it is the night before and his stomach is turning summersaults. He knows it will take several days to arrive in Ásgarð, but the nerves keep him up all night. They are due to leave with the sunrise and he is awake and ready before his mother even knocks to wake him, pacing before the large fireplace. It had been decided that they would breakfast after they departed, something Býleistr had complained about loudly; but Loki knows he will not be eating this morning, he is far too nervous. 

When he is sent for, Loki has just finished wrapping himself in his warmest wolf pelt cloak and soft leather boots. It is not often that Loki puts on footwear or excessively warm clothing, however, even a Jӧtun can freeze to death traveling the tundra if he or she is not properly covered. His family is dressed similarly when he joins them at the palace gates. They are accompanied by a caravan and vanguard very similar to Odin’s and Loki gazes about them curiously. 

He feels small surrounded by his Jӧtun kin and the animals that are large enough to be ridden and pull the sleighs. But it also feels safe. Loki knows that if they are attacked during their travels, between his seiðr and their warriors’ skills, his family will be safe. None but the few who had been present during his outburst with Býleistr know just how powerful his is, and even then they had seen but a mere glimpse of what he can do. Of course there are rumors about his prowess with seiðr, a few of which Loki started himself; however, many are exaggerated and stretched far beyond reality, and a few even insult him by underestimating his skills. 

With much of the supplies already loaded and the animals, bears and giant dogs and, to Loki’s surprise, a bilgesnipe, they will be leaving in a few short minutes. He and his family are escorted to the sleigh that will be theirs through the journey, the one that will be pulled by the bilgesnipe, and Loki slips away briefly. He has only ever seen the skin and skull of such a beast and it is rather frightening how large they are alive. As he approaches, it eyes him wearily, nostrils flaring as is takes in his scent. Loki smiles in wonder, and when he is close enough, he reaches out to touch it. The beast does not flinch as he runs a hand along its curved snout and up between its eyes, marveling at the way its thick scaly skin feels under his palm. 

“Loki,” he hears Fárbauti call, and he looks up, surprised. It is not very often that his father fetches him personally. “Come away from there. We are leaving soon.”

Hesitantly, Loki lets his hand fall away from the bilgesnipe’s snout and joins his family, glancing back at the beast before climbing into the cozy sleigh and taking his father’s hand when it is offered. He does not need the help, though the steps are deep for him and his small stature, but it would be rude of him to refuse. Once he is inside and seated comfortably beside his mother, Helblindi on her other side, and Býleistr sitting across with their father, the door is closed behind them. Loki hears the commotion outside as the commanders shout orders in their native tongue and the vanguard organizes themselves around the sleigh pulled by the bilgesnipe. It is another few minutes before Loki hears the crack of a whip and they lurch into motion. 

As they pass through the palace gates and into the city streets, Loki can hear the loud cheering of the people. Scooting to the edge of his seat, he peeks out of the sleigh window to watch as they make their way slowly. There are men, women, and children lining all up and down the narrow street, waving and pointing at the bilgesnipe in awe. A little Jӧtun girl catches his attention and when they make eye contact, she waves excitedly. Loki waves back hesitantly and the girl and her group of friends giggle and crowd the heads together to talk. 

The procession to the city gates is slow and the cheering is loud, the combination grating on his nerves after a while. When Helblindi begins to grow fidgety with his own impatience, Loki opens his mouth to snap at him, but his mother’s hand on his shoulder and the warning looks from both parents keeps his lips sealed. Instead, he sits back with a huff, glaring first at Býleistr, who wears a smirk directed at him, and then out the window. 

Though Býleistr no longer torments and taunts him, Loki still catches his brother looking at him all too smugly when he his warned by their parents not to do this or that, or smirking when he makes a mistake. And though he would rather have the snide looks and smirks, they still irritate Loki.

Finally, they leave the city gates, and the young Jötun’s nerves are back. 

Just as he predicted, when it comes time to break their fast, he does not eat more than a bite of his own food. When Helblindi asks timidly if he is going to finish his meal, Loki passes it to him with no objections, merely keeping a chunk of bread for himself, which he nibbles at to placate his mother. His younger brother is delighted and thanks him profusely before cleaning every last crumb in record time.

By midday, Loki has grown bored in the sleigh. So when the vanguard stops to feed the animals and eat a meal themselves, Loki does not hesitate to scamper out into the snow, glad to be able to stretch his legs. Helblindi follows after him without Býleistr, their older brother scoffing and crossing his arms at the invitation to play. His loss, Loki thinks as he trudges through the ankle deep snow, his soft leather boots keeping his feet warm and dry. He pats the bilgesnipe’s snout as he passes, earning a grunt and a nudge from it and strange looks from bystanders. 

He is on his way to visit the giant shaggy dogs that very much resemble the wolf whose pelt he is wearing tightly around his body when a large ball of snow strikes him squarely on the back of his neck. Loki whirls around, teeth bared in a snarl, just in time to see Helblindi duck behind a sledge piled with supplies. The snarl curls into a grin and he creeps after him, boots barely crunching in the snow. 

By the time they are ready to set off again, both Loki and Helblindi are covered in snow and breathless with laughter. With little thought or effort, Loki’s seiðr cleans them of the white powder to prevent it being tracked into the sleigh and melting. 

As they turn to rejoin their family, he grabs a fistful of the fur his brother wears to stop him. “Let me ride on your back?” he requests with a hopeful smile. He cannot remember the last time they had this much fun. 

Helblindi is hesitant, but grins and nods. “Alright,” he agrees, crouching with his back facing Loki. “Climb on, _little_ brother.”

Loki rolls his eyes at the tease and climbs on as he is told, gripping the fur Helblindi wears tightly. His brother stands, careful not to jostle Loki loose, and Loki appreciates him for that. This action between them, playing in the snow and now this, gives him hope that perhaps they can be close again; he had not realized he has missed his younger brother so much. And while he does not miss nannying him, he has missed the company. 

When they reach the sleigh where their family waits for them, Loki hops down carefully, though he misjudges the distance and stumbles as he lands. As he catches his balance, he looks up, wondering vaguely when Helblindi had grown so tall. Though he is much younger, he nearly matches Býleistr in height and will more than likely overtake him within the next year or so. It even seems possible that he will grow to be taller than their father. Loki smiles at the thought and how jealous it must make Býleistr, who takes more after their mother in height. 

Inside the sleigh it is just as hot and stuffy as it had been when Loki left it and it is stifling. Refraining from complaint, he shrugs the wolf’s pelt from his shoulders, letting it pool around his waist. Evidently, he is not the only one to shed layers; Nál has removed the fur cloak from around her own shoulders and it now lays folded neatly on her lap. Fárbauti has removed his furs as well, the only two still completely covered being Helblindi, who still seems chilled from playing on the tundra, and Býleistr, who Loki can tell is growing warm, but is too stubborn to remove any of his furs. 

When their eyes meet, Býleistr offers him nothing more than a rude look, eyes darting from him to Helblindi and back. Loki realizes that he is envious that they had had a good time without him. Well, Loki thinks as he settles comfortably with a satisfied smirk, if he had joined them, he would not be feeling left out now. 

It is not long before they are on the move again and Loki gazes out the window until he dozes. 

~

The entire journey lasts for much longer than Loki had guessed it would.

Each evening, always an hour before the sun sinks below the horizon, they set up camp. The snow is shoveled out of the inside of the tents and used to with fur to insulate them. As his family’s tent is erected every night, modest, but larger than the others to comfortably fit five, Loki mutters a spell to keep the drafts out through their sleep. 

During dinner, as the sun sets and the fires are lit, Loki feeds the bilgesnipe. By the end of their journey, he has grown to like the beast very much and he wonders if Fárbauti will let him keep it. He sits with it every even as it eats, scratching at the scales it normally cannot reach until he joins his own family, wrapped in their furs, around the fire. 

As they grow nearer to the border between Jötunheimr and Ásgarð, the weather warms and the snow thins. The blades of the sleigh are replaced with wheels and Loki refuses to travel inside the cramped space. He does not know how his parents and Býleistr stand it; even with the windows of the carriage open, in his opinion it is still sweltering. Instead, he walks alongside, boots and furs abandoned in favor of lighter silks and thin cottons. 

He enjoys walking with the bilgesnipe, talking idly to it to pass the time. When his feet grow tired, it allows him to climb its low hanging antlers and sit lightly on the crown of its head. Loki has noticed the strange looks he gets because of it, knows they are because this is such a fierce beast acting so gently toward him. More than once, Loki wonders if it is because it might female and it is tolerating him like a mother would her young.

It is there, perched on the bilgesnipe’s head, that Loki sees the first glimmer of Glaðsheimr in the setting sun. They are setting up camp now, but even from this distance, he can see the rainbow bridge leading to Bifrost. After seven days of traveling, they have arrived, finally.

Loki barely sleeps that night, nerves from the day they departed returning tenfold. He tries his best not to toss and turn, not wanting to disturb his family’s rest. When sleep finally comes to him, it comes early in the morning and when he is woken, he feels no more rested than when he closed his eyes. He tries his best not to appear as tired as he is, his excitement doing a decent job of masking his lack of sleep. He dresses quickly, making himself presentable for the Æsir court, silk and rabbit fur around his waist, gold bracelets around his wrists and ankles. More for the sake of the Æsir than his own modesty, he wears and gossamer silk scarf over his hair, letting the long fabric drape around his body and pinning it in place with a carefully crafted head piece, not only keeping it secure, but keeping his hair out of his face as well.

Shifting impatiently on his feet, he climbs the bilgesnipe’s low antlers, sitting in them and swinging his feet idly. Finally, he hears his mother calling him. 

“Loki, we’re going to be leaving soon. Come down from there.” Nál’s hands are on her hips and though she looks very much the queen she is, she is also Loki’s mother. 

Sighing, he kicks his feet through the air and gives her an imploring look. “Please let me stay up here, Mother,” Loki pleads. “It’s too hot in there.”

When Nál opens her mouth, he thinks for sure that she is going to tell him no, that it is not appropriate for a prince to be seen by their hosts ridding such a beast like some savage. But she simply sighs. “Very well,” she relents with the hint of a smile. “Do try not to rip your clothing. We want to look presentable after all.”

Loki smiles brightly and pats the bilgesnipe’s scales. From here he will be able to see everything, and likewise, everything will be able to see him. He knows the strange looks he will get, he has grown used to them throughout the journey, and he does not care. The Ásgarðian weather is already warmer than he is used to or likes, and inside of the carriage is even worse; he can bare the stares and the whispers if it means he will not cook in his own skin. 

It is not long after that they start moving again and Loki’s heart leaps into his throat. From his vantage point atop the bilgesnipe’s antlers, he can see the way Glaðsheimr and the rainbow bridge glitter in the early morning sun. Even the sky is different in Ásgarð, something he had noticed during the visits he stole at night. The far western horizon, still untouched by the morning, is painted with stars and nebulas, and as it always does, it takes Loki’s breath away.

By the time they reach the streets, the Æsir have already gathered to watch. Though there is less cheering, the children still run alongside the procession, waving at the Jӧtnar they had heard stories about but never actually seen. When they catch sight of Loki, small and ridding in the antlers of the bilgesnipe, the run back to their parents and point excitedly. All of Ásgarð seems to know who he is and more than once he hears the talk of the older Æsir as they pass.

“…-King’s middle son. I didn’t think he would be so small…”

“…most powerful mage in all the Nine Realms. He does not look like he could be, does he?”

“…heard stories that he was unusually beautiful. I never believed them, but look at him.”

Loki is not sure if he should be offended by these whispers or not and decides to ignore them. Those people do not comprehend even half of what he is capable of, and he is happy to keep it that way; the more people that know just how powerful he is, the less of an advantage he has against his enemies. Let the Æsir doubt him. 

When they finally arrived at the gates of Glaðsheimr, Loki’s heart once again leaps into his throat. It dawns on him as he stares up at the enormous gates, that this is a historic moment. This is the first time the Jӧtnar are welcomed into the halls of the All-Father, that they can set foot inside the walls of Glaðsheimr without being persecuted. Loki realizes what a gesture of opens arms this is, especially coming from Odin. It is almost enough to bring tears to his eyes. 

Tentatively, he climbs down from the bilgesnipe’s antlers and approaches the golden gates. He can feel the eyes on him, from both the Jӧtun warriors and the Ásgarðian citizens, as a hush falls over them. The guards on either side of the gates watch him closely as he rests a hand flat against the smooth surface, feeling the protective magick surging from it through him. He is so close to the Æsir gardens now, and to Thor, and he can practically taste it. 

A shout comes from behind the thick walls and slowly the gates opened, allowing the Jӧtnar in.


	6. In Which There Is Awkward Almost-Flirting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki is not expecting the Golden Son to volunteer to show him to his bed chambers personally. He is at a loss for words when the other prince approaches him cautiously with the hint of what could be a tentative smile on his lips. Without a word, they leave the Great Hall together, Loki casting a questioning look over his shoulder to his mother, who simply shrugs and offers him an encouraging smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings, dear readers!
> 
> I have am so sorry for taking so long to post this! My life has been so swamped lately. I started school a few weeks ago and I'm taking 18 credit hours. To all of you who understand what that means, I know, I'm crazy, but the minimum for maintaining my scholarship is 15 credit hours, so I though, "What the hell! What's one extra class!" That one extra class means I have no life. 
> 
> Anyway, because of that, I think it's probably a safe bet to say, while I will continue posting new chapters over the course of the semester, I won't set any dates for about when I post those chapters. One thing you can be sure of though, dear readers, is that this fic is not orphaned and I will always update on Thursdays....Even though today is not technically a Thursday. Okay, it's not a Thursday at all, but I finished the chapter last night and wanted to give y'all something to read over the weekend. 
> 
> So! In short, I'll write this fic when I have spare time and update on Thursdays!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are welcome. Please, please, please, if you see something that needs to be fixed, let me know! Sorry for the long note and the short chapter. I'll try to make the next one a little bit longer. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -EverBeenToSpace

The All-Father rises from his throne as the Jӧtnar enter the Great Hall. Thor and Balder stand to their father’s right, Frigga, to his left. They look remarkable, Loki thinks, bathed in the golden morning light that filters through the high windows. He does his very best not to let his eyes linger for too long on the Thunderer, more in awe at how beautiful the man looks in his own home than he would like to admit. 

When Loki and his family, and the few nobility Fárbauti had hallowed join them, come to a stop before their hosts, they bow their head in respect. Loki cannot help glancing up at Thor from under his lashes, heart leaping into his throat when he sees that the man is already watching him. This is absolutely ridiculous, he chides himself. One meet of their eyes and Loki is tripping over himself like an adolescent girl. He continues to scold himself as he listens to the kings’ greetings. 

“My family thanks you for your hospitality, Odin All-Father,” Fárbauti says as he straightens to his full, impressive height. “It is an honor to be allowed into your home.”

“My family welcomes you gladly into our halls,” Odin replies, looking more relaxed now than any of the times Loki had seen him back in Jötunheimr. 

The All-Mother catches his attention when she steps forward to speak. “Will you be staying with us for the duration of the celebration, Nál-Queen?” she asks, addressing his mother directly. Loki can hear the hope in her voice, knowing that Nál and Frigga had become rather close during the few days the All-Mother had stayed in Jötunheimr while the kings negotiated. 

Nál smiles and bow her head as she replies. “Unfortunately not,” she says with her gentle voice. “With my husband and sons here, I must return to Jötunheimr. I will be going home within the next few days.”

Frigga nods knowingly, it is much the same situation she had been in. “We will have to speak before you leave.”

Formalities continue on for several more minutes before it is decided that the Jӧtnar should be shown to their rooms. It is still early and the welcoming feast will not begin until well into the afternoon; however, Loki is not expecting the Golden Son to volunteer to show him to his bed chambers personally. He is at a loss for words when the other prince approaches him cautiously with the hint of what could be a tentative smile on his lips. Without a word, they leave the Great Hall together, Loki casting a questioning look over his shoulder to his mother, who simply shrugs and offers him an encouraging smile. 

As they walk through the corridor, Thor’s boots echo off the walls and ceiling while the only sound of Loki’s footfall is the soft jingling of the gold around his ankles. The silence is uncomfortable and he can see that Odinson is slightly tense, though he thinks it must be from nerves, or at least that is what he would like to think. He really does not know the man’s feelings for him after the way things had gone between them. And that is something Loki takes full responsibility for. 

When Thor stops before a set of doors that tower over them both, Loki nearly walks right into him, catching himself just in time. The other prince is watching him with that tentative almost-smile on his face. 

“There are two things I would like to show you before I take you to your champers,” he says, voice surprisingly hushed as he pushed the doors open wide. 

The Jӧtun prince blinks against the momentarily blinding sunlight that streams into the already bright corridor. When his vision clears, he steps through the threshold and nearly falls to his knees at the sight before him. Without thinking, he reaches out and grabs Thor’s arm to steady himself as he gazes around them, awestruck. He has never seen a library so splendid. His sanctuary at home, with all its mysteries, pales slightly in comparison and Loki feels a jealous pain slice through his chest. He loves Jötunheimr, it is his home and its icy tundras are beautiful, especially during the short spring when the weather warms enough for small wildflowers to bloom before the summer snows blow in. But Ásgarð surpasses any of that and it is has resentment building in his chest. 

He turns to Thor, hand still on his warm skin, with every intention of snapping at him, demanding to know why he would show him this when he knows his home cannot compare. But the look on the man’s face, one full of hope that his Jӧtun companion will like what he is being shown, stops him dead. Loki cannot say those things now, and he swallows his pride instead, focusing on the excitement and wonder he is feeling. The smile he offers the blond prince shows that and he squeezes his arm before letting his hand drop.

“This is amazing, Thor,” he murmurs honestly as he walks farther into the library. He tilts his head back to see everything that he can before he lays eyes on the massive tree growing in the center of the huge space. “Thank you for showing me this place; it is wonderful.”

Thor beams and Loki can feel the man’s eyes on him as he walks slowly toward the tree. When he is close enough, he rests a palm on its surprisingly smooth bark. He is not expecting the surge of magick and life that pours into him, and it nearly brings him to his knees. Immediately, he knows that this tree is a living branch of Yggdrasil and pulls his hand away, tears in his eyes; Loki has never felt anything so pure before. 

“Beautiful, is it no?” the Thunderer was murmuring, voice hushed. “This single branch of Yggdrasil protects all of Ásgarð, keeps it alive. When it finally dies, so shall we.”

Loki must wear a concerned look, for Thor laughs good-naturedly, offering his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Worry not. It has been alive for hundreds of millennia and it will be alive for hundreds of millennia more,” he assures with a bright smile. 

Loki considers this for a moment before nodding. The thought of such pure life dying is upsetting, even if all things die eventually; but knowing the branch will not whither for several more hundreds of thousands of years is enough to placate him for now. He admires the tree for a few minutes more, palm pressed against the smooth bark, until a warm hand, heavy on his shoulder, brings him back. Slightly startled, Loki turns only to find Thor standing very close behind him.

“Come,” the Thunderer murmurs, voice a rumbling hush that has a shiver rolling up Loki’s spine. “I wish to show you the garden before you settle into your chamber.”

At the mention of the Ásgarðian gardens, a jolt of excitement flashes through Loki and he nods with a smile. He realizes that this is perhaps the first time he has truly smiled at Thor and looks away quickly, missing the dazed expression on the Thunderer’s face. After a moment and a deep breath, he stands straight and turns to face Thor, motioning for him to lead the way. 

“Shall we, then?” he offers, taking a step away from Yggdrasil’s branch. He is rather excited to see the lovely gardens in the light of day. 

Thor, seeming to gather himself quickly, nods with a smile and offers Loki his arm. “Let’s,” he agrees. 

The arm offered to him catches Loki off guard and he hesitates. Sighing, brushing away a stray strand of hair that had come loose of his head piece, he takes Thor’s arm slowly. The warmth of his skin sends a shiver up his arms and down his spine, and he blushes faintly, though he sets his jaw and keeps his head held high. He his mildly surprised by how firm Thor’s muscles are under his hands and he cannot help pressing his fingers into them as they walk. 

The journey from the library to the gardens is quiet, and Loki gazes around them, adoring the way the sun filters into the halls in golden streaks. Everything in Ásgarð seems to be the color of gold in one light or another, so unlike Jötunheimr with its watery blue daylight. It has Loki that much more eager to see how the flowers differ in the sunlight, for last he had seen them, they had been washed in silver moonlight. He hides his excitement well, keeping as mask of curious indifference on his face. 

However, it breaks away as soon as they enter the garden bursting with flowers of all species. Loki pulls slowly away from Thor when he stops at the edge of the grass, taking his first tentative steps. The garden is different than the one he had visited in the night, though it is no less beautiful. Holding his breath, Loki steps onto the grass, shivering at the way it feels beneath his bare feet; cool and fresh and soft. 

“How do you like it?” The golden son’s voice sounds quietly from behind him and Loki starts, pivoting slightly to look at him. 

“It is beautiful,” he answers after several moments, gazing around them, eyes bright. “Truly stunning.” He turns in time to see Thor’s pleased smile and looks away quickly. 

“I am glad you think so,” the blond prince responds, his voice holding the distant rumble of thunder in it. Loki lets himself enjoy the warmth it gives him, a hint of a smile on his lips. 

After a moment of hesitation on Thor’s behalf, a large warm hand rests on Loki’s lower back, the heat of the Ásgarðian’s skin seeping through the thin fabric draped around his body. “Do you see that balcony there?” Thor murmurs, turning them to face the palace once again, and Loki nods, glancing at the other from the corner of his eye. “That is where your chamber is. From that balcony, you will be able to admire the garden whenever you please.”

Loki shifts against the sun, which is slowly rising higher in the sky, warming him too much. “Thank you, Thor,” he says quietly, moving subtly toward the palace. “I love the garden, I do, but I think I would like to see my chambers now.” He feels a tiny flicker of guilt at the almost crestfallen expression Thor takes on and he offers him a smile, raising a hand to squeeze the man’s bicep reassuringly. “That is a most unbecoming look on your face, Thor. It is simply warmer than I am used to and I would like to go inside.”

Thor’s spirits seem to rise and Loki lets his hand drop with a teasing smirk, walking back into the palace with the blond man on his heels. Once they are back in the cool stone corridor, he takes to following Thor, having no idea where he is going. The trip to Loki’s chambers is quicker than the trip to the garden, and it is not long before the two are ascending a staircase and making their way down a long airy hallway with large windows overlooking the gardens on their left. 

“Here we are,” Thor announces, stopping before a set of grand wooden doors. After a pause, he turns and Loki watches as he pushes them open. 

For a moment, the sunlight that streams from the room blinds him and Loki blinks several times before his sight clears. And what he sees is so welcoming that it almost feels like home. The room is pleasantly cool, clearly charmed to remain at a comfortable temperature for a Jӧtun. The bed is draped in green silks and pelts that look more than inviting. And there are two large bookshelves positively stuffed with tomes and volumes. The fireplace is lit with a small fire, and there are two arm chairs in front of it. Loki’s things are in a neat pile near the wardrobe, still needing to be unpacked. Mouth slightly open, he takes a few steps inside and turns to take it all in. 

“Do you like it?” Thor asks uncertainly, following him slowly through the threshold. 

Loki turns and gives the blond man a bright smile, not hiding it or looking away for a change. “Very much,” he confirms. 

He cannot help blushing at the dazed expression Thor now sports, and he lifts his hand to play nervously with his hair. He hates how much he feels like a shy adolescent girl around the Golden Son, but it cannot be helped. After several beats of silence, Loki gives a small motion toward the door. 

“I should—I should really be getting ready for tonight,” he stammers, cursing himself for his lack of articulation. “The journey was long and I am in desperate need of a bath.”

Thor nods before offering a polite half bow. “Then I shall see you again at tonight’s feast.” He manages to take a step back through the doorway when Loki speaks again. 

“You had better save me a dance, Odinson,” he teases with a smirk, batting his eyelashes flirtatiously. Before Thor can even think up a response, Loki shuts the door and locks it. He lets out a slow breath, turning back to face the rest of the beautiful room. He decides that before he does anything else, he needs to unpack. Slowly, he sets forth hanging his clothing in the wardrobe and putting the rest in the chest of drawers. 

With everything put away, he begins undressing, moving slowly to the bathing chamber as he does. Now is the time to get ready, he has a feast to attend to after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I totally bullshitted that whole thing about Yggdrasil. I have no idea if that's an actual thing. It's a head cannon. Okay. Well, that's all.


	7. In Which Something Is Discovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Will you and Thor be married?” His younger brother’s voice breaks into Loki’s nostalgic memories and he nearly chokes at the question, eyes flying open. 
> 
> “Why would you ask such a thing?” he coughs, setting his goblet on the table before he can spill its contents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings dear readers!
> 
> First, I would like to wish you all a happy New Year! Can you believe it's 2015 already?  
> Second, I would like to apologize for taking so long to post this chapter. I know many of you have been following since the very beginning and for that I'm very grateful. Thank you so much for sticking around even when I go on hiatuses like this. And thank you all for the supportive comments and wonderful praise. I love you all very much!
> 
> I know this chapter is a wee bit short, but I like the way it turned out. I'll do my best to get the next chapter up before I head back to the new semester (I start up again on the 12th). So enjoy and thank you for reading!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are always welcome, and if you see any spelling/grammar mistakes, let me know so I can fix them. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -EverBeenToSpace

The time until the feast is spent fretting over what to wear or how to do his hair, and by the time the sun begins dipping down below the tree line, Loki is only just sinking into a warm bath. He has already set his clothing out on the bed and his jewelry is in a neat pile on the bedside table, so he takes his time bathing. 

The water is cooling by the time he stands and dries, the sun below the horizon, leaving the sky aglow with twilight, and now he is rushing to be ready. He oils his skin until it is soft and smells of lavender, braiding his wet hair quickly and intricately. 

Loki is adjusting the flowing fabric around his body when three solid knocks come to the door. Brows furrowing, he finishes quickly and hurries to see who is calling on him. It comes as a surprise to see Thor’s nervous face on the other side and both his heart and his breath catch in his throat. 

The Thunderer clears his throat and bows his head formally. “Good evening, Loki,” he rumbles, blinking a few times as he takes in Loki’s appearance. After a moment, the blond man clears his throat once more and stands just a little bit straighter. “I would be honored if you would allow me to escort you to the feast.”

A blush creeps across Loki’s cheeks and he has to keep himself from fidgeting with the loose fabric around his waist. He cannot answer right away as his eyes travel over the Thunderer’s form. The man is adorn in reds and golds, his tunic beautifully embroidered along the hem. His blond hair is tied back from his face with two simple plaits. He is utterly and completely handsome and Loki finds himself wanting to skip the feast altogether in favor of a much more entertaining and far more private activity. He does not trust his voice just yet, and each passing second seems to make Thor more and more nervous. 

Finally, Loki answers with a nod and a smile. “That would be lovely, Thor. Thank you,” he murmurs, stepping into the corridor. A mischievous grin spreads over his lips, and he adds, “You are not doing this because our mothers put you under pressure, are you?”

Loki grins wickedly as Thor’s cheeks flush and he huffs indignantly. “I am insulted that you would say such a thing,” the other prince says stiffly, somehow managing to simultaneously sound slightly irritated and slightly hurt. He looks like a pouting pup and it makes Loki smile fondly, actually smile. 

He places a hand on the man’s arm, smile still in place. “I merely kid. I would be delighted to have you as an escort to the feast,” he assures. Loki feels the tension drain from Thor’s body at his words and the smile that the man gives him is bright and heart-stopping. 

Suddenly, the young Jӧtun feels shy, sliding his hand away to fiddle with a stray lock of hair that had managed to escape one of his braids. This infatuation, these feelings he has developed toward Thor, are exhausting with the man around and Loki does not know how he is going to survive this stay in Ásgarð if things continue the way they are. At least after the Æsir had left Jötunheimr, Loki could focus on other, more important matters than thoughts of Thor. 

It is a moment before he motions absently toward the end of the corridor. “Shall we go?” he suggests, glancing up to the other prince and cursing himself silently when his heart flutters in his chest. “They must be wondering where we are by now.” 

Thor nods with an easy smile, offering Loki his arm. “Let’s,” he hums smoothly, sending as shiver up and then down Loki’s spine. 

They walk in a comfortable silence down the corridor toward the Great Hall, the Thunderer’s boots against the polished stone floor the only sound as they go. When they arrive, jovial laughter and loud voices reach their ears before the sight of their kin’s merrymaking greets their eyes, and it is a merry sight indeed. Joy swells in Loki’s heart as he watches his brethren celebrating with their Æsir hosts, though the only outward sign is a small smile that curls around the edges of his lips.

He keeps his hold on Thor’s arm as they make their way to the high table where their parents and brothers sit, and Loki does not miss the pleased look upon the adults’ faces when they spy him and his escort. Several other eyes raise as they close the distance and shouts of greeting are thrown in their direction. Loki glances to the man at his side and is taken aback by the way he is simply _glowing_ with happiness.

They reach the table sooner than Loki would like, though he will never admit it if asked. Before he can take his place between his brothers, Thor takes his hand and bows slightly, pressing a kiss to the back of it with his warm lips and the Jӧtun prince’s cheeks and ears heat up. 

Despite that, he smirks and leans forward so that only Thor will hear him. “Don’t forget about that dance, Odinson,” he murmurs, letting the other prince interpret his words as he pleases. 

As he takes his seat, Loki notices the blush that colors Thor’s cheeks as he moves to sit between Odin and Balder. With a satisfied smirk on his lips, he begins to fill his plate from the platters set along the center of the vast table. 

“You seem to have taken a liking to him,” Býleistr says with a knowing grin. It is the first time his brother had spoken to him since they arrived and he has no mocking tone in his voice, no sneer upon his face. Loki finds himself wondering if him nearly killing his bother was all it had taken to prove himself more than simply his stature and his anatomy; if so, he wonders why he had not tried it soon. 

After several moments, Loki realizes that Býleistr is waiting for a response. He merely shrugs and offers his goblet to a passing servant to be filled. “Thor is not so bad once you come to know him,” he replies in an aloof tone before sipping at the spiced wine. 

The warm flavors that fill his mouth draw a hum from Loki’s throat and his eyes close for a moment. He remembers when he was younger and they would trade for several barrels of Ásgarðian wine. He had savored the taste then as he does now. 

“Will you and Thor be married?” His younger brother’s voice breaks into Loki’s nostalgic memories and he nearly chokes at the question, eyes flying open. 

“Why would you ask such a thing?” he coughs, setting his goblet on the table before he can spill its contents. 

Helblindi shrugs continuing his meal as if he had not said anything unusual. “I overheard Mother and Father speaking during the journey,” he says once he has swallowed the food in his mouth. “Mother said that she hopes you and the Golden Son can get along if you are to be married.”

Loki does not know how to respond to this knowledge and can only stare at his younger brother with his mouth slightly open. He and Thor were _betrothed_? The news should fill Loki with joy, but he can only feel rage boiling to the surface and his jaw clenches. How _dare_ his parents sell him off without his permission? How _dare_ they keep it from him and expect everything to go well? Why had they not discussed with him this solution to their troubles? Because it is clear that that had been the conclusion of the kings’ negotiations. Loki is simply a chip in their game of politics. 

Feeling eyes on him, he looks up and finds Thor watching him with clear concern on his face, the man obviously having taken note of his sudden change of mood. And new anger flashes through him. Had Odinson known about this? Had he merely been kind to Loki to ease their road to marriage?

Fury in his eyes, Loki finishes his wine in two quick gulps. A servant is there to refill his cup before Loki can even rest it back on the table, and that is just fine; if he is going to survive this evening, he is going to need to be very inebriated. 

“Why did you tell him that?” Býleistr hisses around Loki at their younger brother. 

Helblindi turns innocent eyes to him and shrugs. “No one told me it was a secret,” he says truthfully. “I thought he already knew. 

Loki’s jaw clenches and he has to take a deep breath to keep himself calm. There is no need to be upset with his brothers, or at least with Helblindi, as he had clearly known no more about their parents’ plans than Loki. Býleistr, on the other hand, had clearly been privy to the information, which again brings up the question, had Thor?

“Why did _you_ not tell me?” Loki demands, turning his hard, angry eyes on Býleistr. “Did you not think it would matter to me? No, why would it? It is only my _life_ that is being bartered away!”

Æsir and Jötnar alike turn curious gazes in their direction and Loki ducks his head and drops his voice. “Do you really hold such contempt for me, brother?” he spits angrily. 

“It was not for me to tell,” Býleistr returns, voice holding the hint of a threatening growl. Loki nearly barks out a dry laugh, pressing his lips together tightly. 

His brother continues despite the snort of derision Loki gives, voice dropping even lower as he glances to their parents, who are talking happily with the All-Father and the All-Mother. “They were going to tell you when the time came.”

The laugh escapes Loki’s lips freely now, though it holds no humor. Shaking his head, he turns his face away from Býleistr and takes up his goblet again. He is nowhere near drunk enough to even being to properly deal with the situation at hand. In fact, he cannot even feel the alcohol in his blood yet. 

With a goal in mind, Loki finishes his second cup of wine and it is quickly refilled. He turns his attention to his food, sitting forgotten on the table in front of him, picking at it idly as he contemplates what to do next. His anger simmers just below the surface as he eats, though he keeps his face smooth in a calm mask of indifference. 

Thor’s glances in his direction become more frequent, brows furrowed, confusion on his face, until Loki cannot take it any longer. Jaw clenched, he turns a glare on the man so powerful that the Æsir prince seems shocked and even slightly hurt. He does not let himself feel guilt as he turns away and finishes his wine. He can feel the satisfying blurry buzz in his head and the slight flush of his cheeks now. 

It is several more minutes before Loki deems himself sufficiently inebriated and he stands, moving smoothly toward Thor. His expression is cool as he approaches the other prince, whose eyes have been on him for most of the evening. With an easy movement despite the disorienting haze of alcohol, Loki stoops to speak to the Golden Son, making sure he will not be overheard. 

“We need to speak,” he hisses through his teeth. 

It is clear that he is angry and Thor does not disagree as he stands and follows Loki outside to the garden. They are alone, as the feast is still young and the food and drink are inside. Loki realizes that these are the gardens where he and Thor had their first conversation, if it can be called that, and he cannot help giving a bemused snort. It is almost ironic, this setting. 

“Loki,” Thor murmurs, finally venturing to break the night silence around them. “What has upset you?”

Loki spins to face Thor, and for a split second when he sees the other man’s expression, he thinks that he has no right being this angry. But he does. He had been used as a bargaining chip in his Father’s politics, no more than an object. And with that in mind, he stalk toward the other prince until they are nose to nose. 

“Were you aware of the conclusion of our fathers’ negotiations?” he demands, voice no more than a hiss through clenched teeth. 

The guilt on Thor’s face is all the answer he needs and though he is still angry, hurt pushes its way to the forefront of his mind. He had started to enjoy Thor’s company. He had actually started to like him, very much in fact. Learning that he has been playing a knowing part in all of this feels like a betrayal and makes Loki wonder if Thor had only been kind to him to ease the way for their inevitable marriage. 

His first instinct is to be furious; furious with Thor, with his own parents and brother for not telling him of their plans, for leaving him in the dark. He wants to yell and scream and take his anger out on Thor. But all Loki can do is glare at the other prince helplessly with his tears stinging his eyes, threatening to spill over. And he is tempted to let them, if only to make the blond man feel guilty. Anger boils under his skin when Thor does not even look at him, obviously preferring to examine his boots instead. 

Tears slip down Loki’s cheeks and only serve to fuel his rage. “Can you not even be bothered to speak? Or to look at me?” he spits, fists balled at his sides. 

When he does not receive an answer, when Thor does not even look up, Loki clenches his teeth and moves to leave the garden. If this is the way the other man is going to treat him, he is not going to stand for it. As he passes Thor, a large warm hand takes hold of his forearm, pulling him to a stop. 

“Loki, wait,” Odinson says, voice pleading. “Please. Allow me to explain. Please.”

“Do not touch me,” Loki hisses, wrenching his arm out of the man’s grasp. He offers one last wet glare, tears rolling down his cheeks before he stalks back into the great hall. The only satisfaction he feels is the guilt painted vividly across Thor’s face. 

Inside, many of his kin and Æsir alike have moved from the feast and are now dancing merrily. Steeling himself, Loki wipes his eyes and begins to skirt around the edge of the room as quickly as possible, avoiding the celebrators as much as he physically can. His eyes still sting and his is sure they are puffy and rimmed red; he does not want to make up a lie for the reason he has been crying. 

When he is finally free of the crowd and the noise, safe in the corridor, Loki beings to walk and does not dare to look back, fearing he may see Thor. He knows he would crumble into a mess if Thor were to follow after him, that he would seek comfort. And the blond man, who does seem genuinely kind despite the part he plays in their fathers’ plans for lasting peace, would no doubt wrap him up in his strong, warm arms. What would Loki do then? He has no doubt he would lose his composure further. He would do something rash, like kiss Thor, then where would they be?

Loki does not allow himself to think about it as he hurries down the corridor, his alcohol blurred mind entirely unsure of where he is going. 

The halls of Glaðsheimr are vast and Loki soon finds himself lost, in a wing of the palace he had not been shown. Several times, he has to duck behind pillars or into doorways to avoid being seen by guards as he does not know if he is even permitted to be where he is. While he is staying with the All-Father and his family, Loki would like to avoid trouble; he has decided that as little contact with them as possible for the foreseeable future will be best. 

By the time he gives up on finding his way back to his chambers and simply slides down the wall to sit, the alcohol has faded from his blood and he does not care if he is discovered. Maybe _that_ will be for the best; at least that way he will be shown back to his rooms. Sighing heavily, he leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. 

~

When he opens his eyes again, the corridor is just as dark and silent as it had been before, however, his body is stiff from remaining in one position for several hours. As Loki stands and stretches with a soft groan, he finds it remarkable that no one had come across him while had had been sleeping. A guard should have come by at some point and just because there is a feast should not excuse proper security. If he had been in a better state of mind and anger were not still a fresh taste on his tongue, Loki might have been tempted to take his concerns to Odin. However, as things are, he does not want anything to do with Thor’s family or his own until he can sort through his emotions.

With a heavy sigh, Loki begins to move toward a staircase at the end of the corridor. His chambers are on the floor above him, he remembers, so it is only logical to go up. 

It takes him longer than he would like to admit to find his way to his rooms and he is entirely exhausted by the time he crumples into his bed. He does not bother putting his clothing or jewelry away, leaving them in an untidy heap on the floor as he crawls under the soft silks and furs.


	8. In Which Forgiveness Is Asked For And Drunkenness Happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The walk back to his chambers is short and Loki is almost surprised when Thor pulls him to a halt in front of his doors. And before the other prince can pull away or say good night, something overcomes Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers!
> 
> I'm so sorry for taking so long to update. I know it's not Thursday, but I have most of the next chapter written and I'm going to post that on Thursday. You'll see why.  
> Now that the semester is over, I'll be posting much more often, meaning at least once a week, but I won't make any promises. So please enjoy this chapter and again, I'm so sorry!
> 
> -EverBeenToSpace

For the next several days, Loki avoids everyone; his mother and father, his brothers, Odin and Frigga, Balder, and especially Thor. When he is not locked in his rooms, he is skulking the halls of the palace; or he is sitting in the nook between the wall and a shelf of the library; or he has climbed a tree in the gardens and rests cradled in the fork of a strong limb with his back pressed against the rough bark. If things went his way, he would avoid everyone for the remainder of his life, or at the very least for the rest of their stay in Ásgarð. 

It is the day before his mother is due to return to Jötunheimr through Bifrost that a knock comes to his door a few hours after the sun has risen while he is reading on his bed. Stubbornly, he remains silent and continues his reading; this is not the first time Thor has come to beg for his forgiveness, and he will ignore the other prince the same as always. 

A second bought of knocking comes, followed by Nál’s voice, “Please open the door, Loki. I know you are there,” and Loki has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from doing as she says. 

There is a long pause and then his mother speaks again. “Do you want to talk, little one?” she asks gently through the door. 

“Of course I don’t!” Loki snaps tossing his book down on the bed and glaring at the door. “Why do you think I have locked myself in my chambers? I am not in the talking sort of mood.”

There is another pause before Nál’s voice sounds, firm as she speaks again. “Loki, open the door. I am leaving at sunrise tomorrow and I have been as patient as I am willing, but no more.”

His mother’s words send shame washing over Loki and he stands slowly, straightening his minimal clothing before he moves to the door. He takes a moment to unlock it and let Nál enter, though he does not look at her; the anger is still fresh inside of him, and though his loves her dearly, he has not forgiven her for keeping him in the dark. 

They move to the bed, sitting on the edge, and Loki stares down at his hands, refusing to be the first to speak. However, his mother seems to have the same intention and remains silent as well; it seems she still has patience to spare despite her previous words. It soon becomes too much and Loki sighs heavily, clasping his hands together. 

“What do you want me to say, Mother?” he asks bitterly, finally glancing up at Nál. “Do you want me to tell you how hurt I am? Because I think you already know that.”

Nál offers a nod, her face smooth and serious. “I am dearly sorry that your father and I have hurt you,” she says honestly, adjusting the fabric on her lap as she shifts to face Loki more completely. “But we were going to tell you when the time was right.”

Loki lets out a hard laugh and shakes his head. “And when would that have been?” he practically spits, surprised with himself for taking this tone with his mother. “On the day of the wedding, perhaps?” 

Nál looks taken aback by the anger in his words and he looks away, gritting his teeth when she finally finds her words. “We were hoping that you and Odin’s son would find your way to marriage on your own,” she says gently. 

“But Thor knew!” Loki has to force his voice from raising too much. “How can I know his courting was genuine? I was beginning to grow fond of him! And he was only being kind because of an arrangement between our fathers!” He stands and moves to the balcony, wiping his eyes when tears begin to well, stinging. 

His hair, loose and free of braids, flutters lightly as he stares down at the gardens below. He hates how he is feeling, as if his heart has been broken, and he wishes he had never gotten involved with Odinson. It is not just the Thunderer’s charm that he blames, but the heat and desire to bear a child that presents within himself as well. Had he not been born intersex, he would not have been so vulnerable; he would not even have been betrothed to Thor. 

It is a moment before Nál’s voice travels softly to him from the bed. “You should give Thor a chance, sweetling,” she says, and Loki can hear her stand. “And I do hope you will come say goodbye to me tomorrow morning. Even though you are angry with me.”

Loki does not turn around, and when he hears the door close he sighs and leans heavily against the balcony’s railing. He knows that he will see her off tomorrow, even if it means he will have to be near Thor and their fathers. It is irrational, but Loki is angrier with his betrothed than he is with his own parents, and the thought of facing him makes him feel simultaneously nauseated with heartache and like he is burning with anger. 

Though it is still early, he sighs and calls for his noontime meal. While he waits for it to arrive, he allows the thin silken robe he has been wearing to fall open and slip from his body as he walks to the bath room; his hair needs to be washed and a bath would be relaxing about now. As the warm water fills one of the large tubs sunken into the floor, he opens the frosted glass doors that lead onto the balcony to let the fresh morning light and air inside. 

There are a few people talking quietly in the garden below and Loki does not care enough to pay them any attention, nor to care about the fact that he is stark naked; he has always been comfortable in his own skin. However, when he hears his name, he glances up automatically, catching sight of Thor walking through the soft grass with Frigga on his arm. The blond prince’s brow is furrowed as he talks, voice having dropped low. But Loki knows they are talking about him and his jaw clenches. 

As if he can hear Loki’s anger or feel his stare, Thor’s eyes flick up and catch sight of him. Holding Odinson’s gaze for several seconds, he turns quickly, loose hair swishing around his naked body, and he moves back inside where his bath is waiting for him. 

~

It is well over an hour before Loki emerges into the main chamber, freshly washed, hair combed and braided simply down his back, and he feels better. He pulls the robe he discarded earlier back on, wrapping the slightly translucent fabric loosely around his body. His food is waiting for him on the small table near the fire place and he is pleased to find that it is still warm. Ásgarðian dishes had initially been strange to him, with their exotic flavors from all over the realms, even Midgard. But Loki has since decided what he does and does not like, and really, there is not much that he does not like. 

Food is not the only thing he finds waiting for him; there is a single flower on his pillow and Loki frowns as he moves toward it. Confusion strikes him as he grows closer, until he realizes just what kind of flower it is; it is a purple hyacinth and he sits heavily on the edge of the bed, picking it up delicately by the stem. He touches one of the bell-shaped blossom and realizes that it could only have come from Thor, for it is a flower of apology. 

After a moment, Loki stands, suddenly angry. He tosses the flower on the floor and moves to the tray of food waiting for him on the table. The meal tastes bland in his upset and he does not finish it, only thinking of the Thunderer and how he seems to think a simple flower will be enough to regain Loki’s trust and affections.

Huffing, Loki stands and pulls off the thin robe he wears and dresses in a simple loincloth and a wrap of fur around his hips. The company of the books in his chambers has grown dull and Loki desires something new. And should he run into Thor, well, then he would let the other prince know just how he feels about the feeble attempt to gain forgiveness. 

Loki pads almost silently down the corridor, his bare feet barely making a noise against the smooth, cool marble floor. While he walks, he thinks about anything but the Golden Son. He remembers instances from his childhood. He recalls when he first learned to braid his hair, the first time Býleistr had picked on him. But most of all he recalls the first instance he had used magick and the training that had followed. 

It had been an accident really. He had been playing in the garden alone before Helblindi had been born, and had climbed a tree to the top. It was nothing he had not done before, climbing had always come naturally to him, but he had lost his footing that day and fell. Fear had filled his body and his mouth, and he could barely bring a scream to his lips as he plummeted toward the ground. 

And aas he fell, he had felt a sudden surge of power rush through him and the he was simply no longer falling. In a flash, Loki was stumbling hard, falling to his knees on the other side of the garden. He had just kneeled there, trembling all over until a guard had come rushing in with his nanny not far behind. She had gathered his young body in her arms, soothing him as he cried and carrying him to his mother. 

It was not long after that incident that his training had begun, Loki recalls as he approaches the massive library doors. Sighing, he brushes stray strands of hair from his face before pushing inside. 

As the quiet washes over him, Loki relaxes and an easy smile spreads over his mouth. If he had things his way, Loki would never leave. He can feel the thrum of energy rolling off of Yggdrasil in gentle waves has he passes, and he lets it calm him further. Never has he felt closer to his seiðr then when he is near the Tree of Life. 

~

In the evening, Loki returns to his chambers with a new stack of books in his arms and contentment washing over him. However, another flower on his pillow, a small branch of rue, has his good mood souring and he growls, dropping his books on the table near the balcony doors. Hands free, Loki stalks to his bed and snatches it up. It is another plea for forgiveness and he tosses it down in anger. Clearly, Thor is not going to stop until they talk, so Loki will give him what he wants. 

Jaw clenched, he storms from his chambers and down the corridor. Soon he stands in front of the Golden Son’s heavy doors and is pounding on the thick wood with a tight fist. He can hear shuffling from inside and a moment later, Odinson opens the door, looking deliciously disheveled and Loki growls in irritation, mostly at himself. 

“Loki,” the Thunderer says, eyes widening a bit in surprise. He does not say anything as Loki shoves past him and into the large room. 

Huffing, he crosses his arms over his bare chest and turns to glare at Thor as the man shuts the door. He hates that the other prince is so attractive, even with his brow creased in worry and his hair damp from bathing. Without a word, he moves and sits on the edge of Thor’s partially made bed, staring at him until the blond man is shifting uncomfortably near the door and moves to stand a few feet from the bed. 

After several moments of tense silence, Loki finally demands, “What do you want, Thor?” And his voice is withering and he wonders if he just imagines Thor flinching away from the words slightly. “What more could you possibly want from me?” 

Thor’s hesitation is obvious and it only succeeds in irritating Loki further. Finally, he speaks. 

“I want your forgiveness,” he murmurs, and Loki scoffs, opening his mouth to speak. “Please, let me continue. I am sorry for not telling you of our fathers’ negotiations. Odin forbade it, and since your arrival it has not been sitting well with me. 

“But you are mistaken if you think my interest in you was only because of that arrangement, Loki. I truly wish to get to know you. You are beautiful and talented and you have a sharp wit. You are not like the other men and women I have courted, and I want to know you.” The Thunderer pauses for a moment and Loki stares at him with narrow eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“I understand if you do not forgive me. Truth be told, I was not expecting you to. I simply with for you to understand that my actions since you arrived have not been influenced by our fathers’ decision,” Odinson finally murmurs in conclusion, head slightly bowed. 

After several moments, Loki sighs and his shoulders slump a little bit. “Do not think I’m not still angry with you,” he grumbles, looking away from the Thunderer, “but I understand why you could not tell me about the marriage. But I do not appreciate being sold to you like some sort of slave.” His eyes meet Thor’s again and they are defiant. 

The blond prince offers him an understanding smile, and joins him, perching on the edge of the bed. 

They sit there quietly for several minutes, both lost in their own thoughts. Loki finally clears his throat and stands, adjusting the cloth and fur around his waist. He pauses for a moment before beginning to more toward the doors. 

“I have to get ready for the feast,” he announces when Thor watches him, his blond brows scrunched together. “You had better not be late escorting me tonight, or I will not even consider forgiving you.”

Loki turns to leave, not seeing the look on the Ásgarðian’s face, but hearing his laugh. 

~

The feast is not as terrible as Loki thinks it is going to be, even though he spends most of it ignoring Thor and the way he keeps trying to catch his eye. By the time the dancing starts, though, he has had too much to drink and he can feel the drunk flush that colors his cheeks and the way he is too warm. No doubt he will regret his drinks in the morning, but for now he is smiling and laughing with an Ásgarðian woman whose name he cannot remember. 

A large warm hand heavy on his shoulder has Loki turning, drunken smile still on his lips. He finds Thor standing behind him, cheeks flushed pink with wine and mead. 

He stoops down and whispers against Loki’s ear, “I believe I owe you a dance.”

The Thunderer’s hot breath fanning over his cheek and the way his weapon-callused fingers squeeze gently at his shoulder stirs something in Loki and he nods, standing easily. He takes hold of the hand he is offered and lets himself be led to the dancefloor. The music is fast and unfamiliar, but with Thor leading, he follows confidently, and they never once miss a beat or step on one another’s toes. 

Soon, the tempo slows and Loki finds himself pulled against the other man’s chest as they sway to it. 

“I did not know you could dance,” he murmurs, letting his cheek rest against Thor’s and enjoying the scratch of the man’s beard against his skin. 

“You never asked,” Thor points out with a chuckle, and Loki shivers when he feels those large hands move from his hips and up his back. 

“I suppose that’s true enough,” Loki chuckles. 

Once the song comes to an end and changes again, Loki and Thor still for a moment before moving off the dancefloor, toward the garden doors where it is less crowded. 

Loki is hot and slightly uncomfortable because of it, and though he is drunk and has enjoyed dancing with the other man, he is still angry with him. One dance does not change anything, he has to tell himself sternly, frowning faintly. He may forgive Thor someday, but today is not that day. 

Apparently he does not do a good enough job of masking himself, because when he speaks, the words are all wrong. 

“Will you escort me back to my chambers?” Loki says, regretting the words immediately. He is supposed to be angry with this man, not inviting him back to his rooms, he scolds himself harshly. 

There is surprise in Thor’s eyes, but he nods and offers an arm, which Loki accepts reluctantly. He allows himself, once again, to be led by the blond man. As they pass the high table, he glances over his should and finds his mother smiling at them softly. 

No doubt she is pleased that the two princes have managed to patch things up before her departure on the morrow. Guilt is a bitter flavor on the ground Jötun's tongue and he looks away after a moment. He will be expected to be with his father and brothers to say farewell, and though he may still be upset with her, he will be there to see her off. And to apologize for his harsh words to her; they had been undeserved and he had been out of line. 

The walk back to his chambers is short and Loki is almost surprised when Thor pulls him to a halt in front of his doors. And before the other prince can pull away or say good night, something overcomes Loki. 

Perhaps it is because of the alcohol in his blood or perhaps they have been dancing around this since Thor’s visit to Jötunheimr, but whatever it is has him pulling the Golden Son in for a kiss. He wraps his arms around the man’s broad shoulders, feeling the surprised tense of his muscles and the way he takes in a breath through his nose. And for all Thor’s talk that afternoon, Loki is suddenly unsure until he feels the pressure of the kiss returned and the swipe of a hot tongue against his lower lip. Heavy hands rest on his narrow hips and press him back against the solid wooden door. 

They are not even in the chambers yet and already he has Odinson’s tongue sliding between his lips, which he parts readily to taste the alcohol the man has been drinking. Already he can feel Odinson’s cock hardening in his trousers as he presses closer, his own cock responding in kind, cunt already growing slick. Loki moans when Thor presses a knee between his legs, and he catches the man’s lower lip between his teeth in response as he grinds against his thigh. 

Loki has been wondering what this would be like, how it would feel, for months. He cannot believe it is like this, and Thor has not even touched him yet. He never would have imagined that he would want to do this outside of his heat, because he has never been aroused outside of that time, not really. But everything is wonderful and their kiss grows sloppy, and somewhat clumsy on the Jötun's part.

A giggle catches them both by surprise and the kiss breaks with a lewd, wet smack. They turn their heads to find a young serving girl watching them, mouth hidden behind her hands as she giggles again. When she realizes she has been caught, her face flushes with embarrassment and she gives a quick bow before darting off. 

When she is gone, Thor turns a sheepish grin to Loki and they both burst into a fit of drunken laughter, clinging off of one another. Once they catch their breath again, Thor shifts slightly, thigh rubbing along the length of Loki’s now hard cock. He bites his lip to stifle a moan, grinding faintly against the other man’s leg.

“Perhaps we should go inside.” Thor suggests, sounding winded, and Loki agrees with an eager nod, not caring that he will more than likely regret this in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Thursday the sex happens. Loki and Thor done went and got drunk and they're gonna do the do. Stay tuned!
> 
> -EverBeenToSpace


	9. In Which There Is Reluctant Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am still angry with you,” Loki murmurs when he pulls away and shifts back a step or two. “This changes nothing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers,
> 
> First, I would like to thank all of you who wished me well when I was sick just before my birthday and I'd like to thank all of you who wished me a happy birthday. You are all so wonderful and lovely! 
> 
> And again I took forever to update and I'm sorry. The past few weeks have been insane, which is surprising for summer, for me at least. But I hope this chapter makes up for it, because it's about 90% smut. And it only took 9 chapters! I really hope it was worth the wait. 
> 
> Anyhow, enjoy!
> 
> -EverBeenToSpace

Clothing is shed quickly once they are in the large room and Loki growls when he hears the silk around his waist tear. He shoves Thor away to undress himself, not even bothering to check the damage; it will still be there in the morning. 

When he looks up, the other prince is staring at him openly, and still fully dressed. With an impatient huff, the Jötun moves to push his tunic up. He is glad that for once Thor is not dressed in his heavy armor, cotton clothing so much easier to deal with. As he works, he can feel the blond man’s tight muscle beneath his fingers and swallows. This man could so easily overpower him and yet he is watching him with such a tender look in his eyes. 

Loki must pause, because Thor is gently moving his hands out of his way to undress himself. He watches as the clothes come off, leaving Odinson standing naked before him with an easy smile on his face. Biting his lip, Loki lets his eyes travel down his body, taking in the definition of his strong muscles and the light tan of his skin. He cannot keep his eyes from lingering longer than necessary when they reach the man’s cock; it is hard and flushed where it sits between his legs, almost too heavy to stand erect. Honestly, it is much larger than Loki had imagined and he swallows in anticipation. 

He looks up when Thor moves toward him and shivers when his hot hands rest on his hips, tracing the raised lines there all the way up his back. Those hands touching him are definitely something he could get used to, Loki decides with a low hum, leaning back into the touch. 

Without much thought, he pushes Thor toward the bed until the backs of his knees hit the mattress and he tumbles back, grinning. As he scoots back and makes himself comfortable, Loki follows, straddling his hips. He takes a moment to position himself so that when he grinds down, Thor’s shaft, pinned against the man"s belly, slides perfectly between the lips of his quim, the head nudging at the back of his testicles. 

Loki is not sure how he knows to do any of this, how he knows that grinding himself on the other man’s erection will draw little moans from both their lips and make him grow wetter and wetter with each roll of his hips. But he does, and he has no intention of stopping until he is satisfied. Thor is clearly enjoying the slick friction as well, if his rough groans and the way he grips the young Jötun’s hips are anything to go by. 

So when Thor shifts his weight to roll them over, Loki protests loudly. His whine is cut off by a rough kiss, and when he feels the thigh pressed between his legs, he gasps against the other man’s tongue. He is more than happy to rut into Thor’s hip, cock leaving a sticky-wet trail of precome along his skin as he grinds his cunt hard against his muscular thigh. 

“Norns,” the Golden Son growls into the kiss as Loki moans. “You are so beautiful like this.”

Loki moans once more in response, one hand moving to grip blond hair. He has never felt anything like this and it is almost more than he can handle. The other man is not even inside him yet and he is already embarrassingly close to orgasm. 

A sudden jolt of pleasure goes through Loki at the sweep of a hot tongue over one of his nipples. He had not even noticed the man bow his head, so lost in lower sensations. Now he squirms against the bed, obscene noises slipping from his lips as Thor begins to move down his body. The scratch of the prince’s beard along his stomach as he pauses to press his tongue into Loki’s navel has the Jötun trembling and gripping blond hair tighter. 

“Thor, what are you—” His words are cut off when Thor’s mouth moves lower still and he can feel that hot tongue rolling over the head of his cock. It takes Loki every ounce of his will not to come then and there. 

Thor sucks for just a moment, lapping up the precome beading at the slit before continuing lower. His beard rubs lightly against his shaft on the way and Loki writhes, rocking his hips into his face as his moans grow louder and more frequent. He is so close it feels as if he is being burned from the inside out, and he is trembling all over. 

The hot, wet feeling of Odinson’s tongue slips behind his testicles and teases along the slick folds of his cunt, and Loki jumps, moaning loud and long. 

“Thor! Oh norns, Thor, I’m close,” he whimpers, both of his hands buried in the man’s hair. 

A displeased whine escapes Loki’s lips when he can no longer feel Thor’s tongue at his quim or his beard scratching at his thighs. Before he can bring words to his lips to protest properly, there is a large callused hand squeezing the base of his cock and he cannot keep from crying out as he is denied orgasm. And he is suddenly starkly aware of his inexperience with sex. 

Thor is several years older and clearly more experienced than him. No doubt, the son of Odin has had several sexual partners already, yet Loki has had none. The realization has him blushing in embarrassment and he looks away from the man still gripping his cock tightly. His horns catch on the plush pillow beneath his head in the process and he gives a soft huff. 

Clearly Thor can feel the sudden change in Loki’s demeanor, because he releases his shaft slowly and moves back up his body. He frowns down at Loki, brows pinched together as he cups his cheek softly, thumb stroking gently over his lips.

“What troubles you, Loki?” he murmurs, voice saturated with concern. 

Loki finds it oddly endearing and he trails his hands lightly down Thor’s chest. He thinks about his words as he feels the man’s muscles beneath his fingers and palms. 

“I have no experience,” he finally mumbles, words still soft and blurry with alcohol. “I cannot pleasure you the way past partners may have been able to.”

Loki is surprised by Thor’s throaty laughter and frowns up at him as best he can when he finds the man’s forehead pressed to the bridge of his nose. He cannot help feeling offended by the reaction, feeling as if Thor thinks of his words as silly and childish. 

“I know, Loki,” the other murmurs, letting his body press down against Loki’s, heavy and hot. “Do not worry yourself about it. Please. Let me pleasure you tonight. There will be time for you to learn later.”

Loki opens his mouth to protest, but before he can even get a word out, he was being kissed, slow and deep. His argument melts in his mouth as their tongues slide together and he can taste the ale the other prince had drunk. Never would he have thought he would enjoy the flavor of someone else’s saliva in his mouth, but it has him moaning and rocking against Thor. He can fell the other man’s cock, large and heavy, rubbing against his hip. 

It is not long before he grows impatient with the kiss, nipping at Thor’s lip. The man’s response, a low growl and a hard press of his hips, has him smirking and dragging his nails down his back. Loki’s fingers press into his muscle, feeling the way they tense and move beneath his skin. The strength of his betrothed makes him flush in arousal and he can feel how wet his cunt is and the way precome smears between them as Thor grinds down against him. 

Before Loki can complain, can demand Thor to get on with it, to take him already, a strong hand slides over his cock and between his legs. A shudder wracks through him as a thick callused finger teases between his wet folds to prod gently at his entrance. It is so satisfying to feel someone other than himself touching his most sensitive areas, and he cannot wait to feel that while he is in heat. He has never been sated during that cycle, but he knows that with Thor, he will be. 

So deep in though, Loki lets out a surprised moan when there is suddenly a digit pushing easily inside him. He grips Thor’s shoulders and rocks against his hand, relishing the way the rough calluses rub along the slick walls of his quim. There is barely a moment before another finger slides into him just as easily as the first. It has him squirming and tipping his head back, his horns nearly tearing into the pillow again, and the Thunderer begins moving his fingers, pressing them deeply into him with each thrust. 

“Thor,” Loki growls, hands sliding along Thor back gently before he is digging his nails into the man’s skin and raking them down. “I want you inside me. _Now._ ”

He delights in the way Thor reacts as he drags his nails down his back again, adoring the way the prince arches and growls low in his throat. Muscles move beneath his hands as Odinson shifts, and Loki whines when he no longer as the thick callused fingers inside him. The sound, however, is cut off by a soft moan when he feels the head of Thor’s cock teasing at his entrance. The Jötun bites his lip and glances up, their eyes meeting just before Thor thrust into him in one single, smooth movement, and Loki cries out. Never has he felt so full and his cunt twitches and spasms around Thor’s cock, a thick, hot weight inside him. 

Thor’s breath fans out across his face, making the air between them stuffy and humid. Keeping their eyes locked and their lips inches apart, Loki spreads his legs wider, urging the Thunderer to sink deeper into him, drawing a groan from them both. After several moments, he pushes up and kisses him deeply, one hand tangling in blond hair once again. 

“Move,” Loki breaths against the Thunderer's mouth. 

And Thor does. He starts slow, simply rolling his hips and drawing soft moaning sighs from Loki. But it is not long before he begins to thrust and the slick sound of their movement fills the room with Loki’s moans. The pace is still slow, but it is more than he has ever felt, full and warm, and he pulls Thor down, trapping his cock between their bellies. And the friction is so perfect that Loki does not know how much longer he can last. 

He grips Thor tightly, nails digging into the man’s skin and leaving long red lines down the plane of his back, his other hand still tangled in his blond hair.

“Oh norns, Thor,” Loki gasps, head tipping back and tearing the silk covering of the pillow, but Thor does not seem to notice, taking advantage of his exposed neck quickly. 

Loki moans when he suddenly has a hot wet mouth sucking at his throat. It feels wonderful and Loki cannot help wondering if it will leave a mark. Several times in Jötunheimr, he had seen serving girls with bruises fading on their necks and shoulders, and his drunken mind cannot help want them himself. So he urges Thor on, pressing into his mouth and moaning again. 

As bruises are being sucked into his skin, the pace of Thor’s thrusts change and Loki cries out, back arching. Would sex be this good when they were sober, he wonders, gasping when the angle of the thrusts change as well. He is not even sure how he will feel about this night when he wakes in the morning. 

All of that is expelled from his mind when Thor speeds up once more. He clings to the Thunderer, closer to orgasm than he would like to admit. Each thrust is rubbing all the right places and Loki is mewling in pleasure, breath heavy as he focuses on not coming with every thrust of the larger man’s hips. And it is pure bliss. 

Before he can come on Thor’s cock alone though, a hand wraps around his neglected, weeping shaft and Loki is arching off the bed with a strangled moan. It is not long after that that the Jötun is coming hard, cunt spasming around Thor’s cock as he cries out, nails biting into tan skin and muscle. A moment later, his second orgasm washes over him and his length twitches in the Thunderer’s hand as he spills between them, gasping in a sharp breath that escapes as a low moan. 

As he comes down, bliss flooding his brain, he lets out soft little “ah, ah, ahs” with each movement Thor gives, the man still chasing his own orgasm. Soon Loki is over sensitive, squirming under Thor and gasping into his shoulder. 

“Thor, please,” he gasps out when he can take it no longer, the other prince’s stamina amazing. “Please, I can’t—”

Loki is cut off when Thor suddenly kisses him, hot tongue slipping past his lips as he continues to move. And it is not much longer before Thor is burying himself, hips jerking as he comes. The feeling is so strange that it has Loki writhing and gasping into the kiss. Finally, Odinson’s movement stills, mouth moving to slide along his neck, and they are both panting heavily. 

Loki lets his eyes fall closed, the mix of alcohol and sex making him drowsy. So when Thor pulls out of him after only a minute or so, he lets out displeased grumble, brows scrunching together. But when Thor shifts off of him, rolling to the side so that his warm weight is no longer covering Loki’s body, he protests more loudly, brows pulling together more tightly. 

He hears Thor chuckle and then feels a heavy calloused hand slide along his belly, and the sticky mess if semen is smeared across his skin. 

“You are beautiful in the afterglow,” the Golden Son murmurs right into Loki’s ear, making him shiver. 

“Shut up,” he hisses, eyes still closed and eyebrows still furrowed. “I am still angry with you and this changes nothing.”

However, despite his words, Loki rolls onto his side, curling against the Thunderer and soaking in the afterglow of what they have just done. And though he has heard that many feel regret after meaningless sex and he has assumed he would as well, the Jötun prince feels none of that. Perhaps it was because he had been taken by the man to whom he is betrothed, but Loki, in fact, feels very pleased with the situation, despite how angry he still is. 

As he thinks, he wonders if the alcohol in his system has worn off, because he feels remarkably sober as he lays beside Thor in the afterglow. And then it dawns on him that Thor is the first person he has ever let touch him in such a way and his brow furrows once more, unsure what he is feeling. 

The silence drags on and it is not long before the other speaks. “Are you alright, Loki?” he asks quietly, shifting to bring his arm under Loki’s shoulders and cradling him against his side. 

Loki does not answer right away, keeping his eyes closed and his lips pursed together in a tight line. Once again, the silence drags out so that the only sound is their breathing. Until he finally speaks. 

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, voice barely above a whisper. “It was wonderful, Thor, and upset as I may be with you, I do not regret having sex with you, but…” He pauses to gather his words. “But I have never been intimate with another before, and for some reason, I feel as if I am going to cry.” By the time he is finished speaking, Loki’s voice is quivering and his eyes are stinging. 

It is ridiculous and only makes him angry, but he presses his face into Thor’s shoulder as the tears start to come. Loki has never felt so vulnerable before, not even during or after heat, and he is letting the Thunderer see him this way. 

A small hiccup escapes when Thor presses a tender kiss to his forehead, just between his horns, with slightly chapped lips. The man does not even speak, simply holding Loki as he cries and murmuring comforts into his ear until he clams down. It takes several minutes, but finally the crying subsides and Loki can breathe again, eyes puffy as he pulls away from the other prince to wipe the drying tears from his raw cheeks. 

“This is all your fault,” he mumbles bitterly, though he does not mean it. He rolls onto his back, horns snagging on the torn silk of the pillow beneath his head. And when Thor laughs quietly, he frowns, but says nothing, staring up at the ceiling. 

They lay like that for several more minutes before Loki sighs and sits up to lean against the headboard and the pillows. He glances down at Thor, who remains lying and gazing up at him with a soft smile on his lips. 

“You should go,” he finally says, looking away when the man’s face drops slightly. “I have to be up early in the morning to see Mother off. She would be very disappointed if I did not show up, and it is already late. 

The movement of Thor nodding in understanding registers from the corner of his eye and Loki shifts so he can stand and walk the man to the door. He pauses to grab his silken robe from the chair it is draped over, near the fireplace, watching Odinson dress as he slips into it. Thor is deliciously disheveled, he notes, with his blond hair a mess. Loki cannot help being pleased to see the angry red lines down his back when he turns around. And he is sure he is equally disheveled, his black breads coming loose with stray strands tickling his face. 

Finally Thor turns, and Loki walks with him to the chamber doors, opening them, if slightly hesitantly. And before either of them says goodnight, he presses a kiss to the man’s lips. 

“I am still angry with you,” Loki murmurs when he pulls away and shifts back a step or two. “This changes nothing.”

Though they both know he has already forgiven Thor.


	10. In Which a Mother Embarrasses Her Son and Lunch Is Had

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know you are still upset with me,” Thor starts, voice hushed, “but I was hoping you might consider lunching with me this afternoon? It would not be anything formal, just a meal in the garden. Since we are to be married, we should at least get to know one another, don’t you think? And, well, it is supposed to be such a lovely day and why waste it indoors?”
> 
> Thor is mumbling and Loki cannot keep the amused smile from his face as he waits patiently for Thor to run out of words or breath, whichever comes first. Eventually it is the former and he waits for just a moment to be sure the blond man really is finished speaking. 
> 
> “I would love to, Thor,” is all he says, smiling and returning to his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my good golly gosh, it has been forever and a day since I've posted a chapter. I am _so_ sorry, my dear readers. The past year has been kind of crazy and I've been dealing with a lot, school-wise and personally. I'm trying to get back into the groove of writing this fic and maybe wrapping it up in the next few chapter (although, knowing me, it's probably going to be ten more chapters, because I don't know when to quit), so I'll do my best to keep updating it regularly now that the semester is over and I'm on summer break. 
> 
> I hope you all haven't given up on me and this story, because I think about it a lot! Again, I'm very sorry for making everyone wait for so long!
> 
> -EverBeenToSpace

Before he closes the door, Loki watches as Thor walks down the corridor and around a corner, out of sight. Sighing, the young Jӧtun leans heavily against the jamb, pushing his messy hair out of his face. This evening had not at all gone how he planned, and he tries to be angry with himself for forgiving Thor so easily, but it is almost impossible when he is sated and sleepy, the Thunderer’s semen steadily escaping his quim. 

Shaking his head at himself with a small, bemused smile, he shifts and moves to close the door until a passing servant catches his attention; it would be wise of him to request a wake-up call so that he will be ready in time to say goodbye to Nál in the morning. So he waves the young man over and makes his request.

Finally, with the door shut snugly behind him, Loki falls into bed. He frowns for a moment at the torn pillow, mending it without a second thought. It reminds him that he will need to fix the fabric Thor had torn, but it can wait until morning. The small Jӧtun has already made himself comfortable in the sheets that still smell like sex and a thunder storm, and it is not long before he is drifting to sleep.

~

Come morning, Loki is woken by a soft rapping on the door. He groans and rolls onto his back, the lack of light streaming through the partially open curtains telling him that the sun has yet to rise. Nál will be leaving in perhaps an hour if the servant has woken him up on time. 

“Come,” Loki calls groggily as another set of gentle knocks begin. 

The young man from the night before, whom Loki had instructed to wake him, opens the door and steps halfway into the room. “Good morning, Prince Loki,” he says with a bow. “Is there anything you need this morning?”

Loki sits up and shakes his head, pushing his tangled hair out of his face. “No, thank you,” he mumbles with a yawn, and the servant nods and excuses himself, shutting the door behind himself. 

There is no time to bathe, so when Loki drags himself out of bed, silken robe rumpled being slept in and hanging loosely from his shoulders, he merely wipes himself down with a wet washcloth. When he is finished, the Jӧtun prince only hopes he does not still smell strongly of sex and Thor; though he has no doubt that his mother is already somehow aware the he slept with the son of Odin, it would not be appropriate for him to go to her smelling like it. So for extra measure, he opens the doors leading to the balcony to air the room out as he dresses simply in a loin cloth that brushes his ankles, brushing his hear quickly and pulling it back into a knot at the base of his skull. This is not a formal goodbye, so there is no need for Loki to dress up.

When he is ready, the drowsy Jӧtun leaves his chamber and makes his way to the Great Hall where he knows his family, and perhaps Thor’s, will gather. From there, Loki assumes they will ride with Nál through the city to Bifrost where their goodbyes will be had. 

Loki has never seen Bifrost, no Jӧtun as, at least not the actual machine. He has seen it streaking across the sky though, carrying someone important to their destination. As he walks, the young Jӧtun remembers as a child he had had no idea what that bright streak of like was. It had been something mysterious to him and he had made up stories about it in his head until one day he had asked his father and Fárbauti had explained it was the way the Æsir traveled the Nine Realms. 

Loki chuckles to himself quietly as he opens the doors of the Great Halls just enough to slip through. Inside, his mother stands with Fárbauti, the king’s arm around her as they speak quietly to one another. Helblindi and Býleistr stand slightly off to the side, the youth looking as if he is falling asleep on his feet. Then Odin’s family are gathered for the farewell, and when Loki and Thor meet eyes, the Thunderer offers him a small smile, which he returns before turning and joining his brothers. 

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Býleistr murmurs when Loki stands beside him. 

“Why?” the younger asks, voice flat. Just because he forgave Thor so easily—though he will never admit it—does not mean he will forgive his elder brother so easily. 

He gets nothing more than a shrug in response as Býleistr gives Helblindi a nudge to keep him from falling asleep. Loki rolls his eyes and lets his mind wander, gaze sweeping through the room. A small smile pulls at the corners of his lips as he catches his parents exchange a kiss. It is rare that they show their affection for one another in public, but when they do, it always warms Loki’s heart. And it is understandable that they should share a kiss here or there before Nál’s departure, they will not see one another for many weeks. 

While he is thinking, he does not notice the way Thor has moved away from his family until there is a large hand resting on his shoulder. Startled, he glances up quickly and nearly jerks himself free of the light grip. But the Thunderer’s soft smile placates him and he relaxes. 

“Thor,” the Jӧtun prince greets, ignoring the way Thor’s hot hand on his skin brings back the memories of what they had done the night before. “What is it?”

Thor’s appearance and Loki’s reaction must catch Býleistr’s attention, because he turns slightly toward them, as if to hear what they are saying better. 

“I was wondering if I might speak to you later,” Odinson murmurs, keeping his voice low so it does not echo through the large space. 

Loki hesitates, glancing to his parents who are talking quietly to one another and then to his brothers. To his irritation he found Býleistr giving him a smug smirk, one eyebrow raised. Huffing, the younger Jӧtun motioned for Thor to lead the way away from the rest of the group, stopping when they reached the edge of the grass. Before he could ask what he wanted, the Thunderer spoke. 

“I know you are still upset with me,” he starts, voice hushed, “but I was hoping you might consider lunching with me this afternoon? It would not be anything formal, just a meal in the garden. Since we are to be married, we should at least get to know one another, don’t you think? And, well, it is supposed to be such a lovely day and why waste it indoors?”

Thor is rambling and Loki cannot keep the amused smile from his face as he waits patiently for Thor to run out of words or breath, whichever comes first. Eventually it is the former and he waits for just a moment to be sure the blond man really is finished speaking. 

“I would love to, Thor,” is all he says, smiling and returning to his family. 

As soon as he is standing with Býleistr and Helblindi once more, the doors to the hall are opened and a young soldier steps in to tell them that their escort is ready. Loki is curious as to who they will be getting to Bifrost; surely they will not be walking, the distance from the palace much too far. And even the largest, strongest draft horses the Æsir have will not be able to support the full weight of a Jӧtun for that distance, they are not called Frost Giants for no reason. Of course, the middle prince, being so small, will more than likely ride horse back.

As they follow the young soldier out of the Great Hall and the palace foyer into the splendid courtyard before the gates, Loki is surprised, though he is not sure why, when he sees five horses waiting as well as the carriage they had arrived in once more hitched to the bilgesnipe. Smiling, he moves past the horses, which look very nervous to be so near the beast, and greats it with a warm pat to its snout. It grunts softly, nudging Loki with a snuffle. He still needs to as his father if he can keep it. 

The bilgesnipe shifts slightly and then there is a familiar warm hand on his shoulder. Last night’s memories flash through his mind and he shivers, taking a moment to compose himself before turning with a faint smile. Thor returns it tenfold and Loki tries not to look as dazed as he feels. 

“Come,” the Thunderer murmurs, “the horses are ready for us.”

Loki follows Thor to the animals waiting for them a few yards back. He is not so sure about the state that they are in and voices his concerns to the other man. 

“I don’t know about this, Thor,” he starts slowly, hesitating slightly as he is led toward a large silver mare who is eyeing the bilgesnipe suspiciously, snorting. “I have never ridden a horse and they don’t seem particularly keen on the bilgesnipe.”

“Nonsense,” Thor says cheerfully, smiling radiantly as he helps the reluctant Jӧtun prince onto the mare’s back and into the saddle. “These are the palace’s finest horses. Once we depart, they well see nothing but what is ahead of them.”

Frowning, Loki adjusts his loincloth as he shifts uncomfortably in the saddle. It is strange, feeling the creature more beneath him, and he feels slightly unsteady, muscles tightening instinctively as he grips with his thighs to keep himself put. It had been different riding in the bilgesnipe’s antlers or on its head, the movement distribute evenly through its massive body. But this horse is completely different; he can feel every shift it makes and it has him on edge. 

As he gets the feel for this new creature, Loki glares to the side when Odinson pulls up beside him, easy smile still in place. He cannot help hating the man, just a little bit, for how easy he makes it seem. However, before he can say a word, there is a shout and the gates begin to open. 

Before long, they are making their way through them and into the streets. There are four Jӧtun guards, two on either side of the carriage, who will be escorting Nál back to the palace from the landing spot. Behind them are a dozen or so of Odin’s own guard, though Loki is still alert as they pass through the dark streets, the sun just barely warming the horizon, turning it gray. 

The way to Bifrost is long and winding, and by the time they reach the Rainbow Bridge the sun’s rays are streaking through Asgarð’s streets. Loki is reminded then of the Gate Keeper, Heimdall, and shifts in his saddle. The Jӧtun mage cannot help wondering if he had Seen him despite the spells he had cast to conceal himself during his many visits to Ásgarð. As he thinks, his horse shifts and grips the reigns tightly, clenching with his thighs again for the umpteenth time. His sink is going to be raw by the time they get back to the palace, he thinks with a sigh.

They begin crossing the bridge and Loki still grips the reigns rightly in his hands, though he leaves plenty of slack for his mare. He does not like this saddle, he decides as they reach Heimdall, who has come out to greet them. There is not much for him to grip onto should he begin to slide off, though he grips the leather of the stirrups tightly with his toes, trying to keep himself as centered as possible. He is more than happy to slip out of it when they finally come to a stop behind the carriage, landing easily and lightly on his feet. 

Thor is beside him a moment later and together they make their way to the large cab where the rest of his family is slowly filing out. Helblindi is yawning widely as he steps onto the bridge, and Loki is willing to bet that his younger brother had fallen asleep on the ride to Bifrost; he had always been able to doze anywhere and the young mage envied him for it. 

He starts slightly when a large warm hand touches his elbow, and he has to remind himself that it is only Thor. Casual touches are something mostly foreign to Loki. Of course his mother is always affectionate with him, but there is something different in a mother’s touch compared to…well compared to a lover’s. Because that was what Thor was to him now, a lover, and a very good one at that. Loki’s cheeks flush faintly and he jerks his head in a quick, sharp jerk to clear it. He will just have to get used to the casual touches that the Thunderer gives him, he decides resolutely, following him and their families into Bifrost. 

“Good morning, House of Odin, House of Fárbauti,” the Gate Keeper greets, and Loki is sure he imagines it, but for a split second he swears the man flashes a quick grin at him and Thor. Surely he had not been watching them the night before, Loki thinks, horrified. But then, Heimdall had not been given the title “All-Seeing” for nothing, had he? The young Jӧtun’s face burns and he looks away. 

Luckily, Nál rests a hand on his shoulder just then and he glances up at her, glad to see her soft smile rather than the Gate Keeper’s knowing smirk—fleeting as it may have been. Loki lets her move him away from the rest of the group, wondering what she has to say to him that she cannot say in front of the others. In hindsight, it should have been somewhat obvious. 

“I am glad you came, little one,” his mother murmurs when she is sure the rest are out of earshot. 

“Of course I came, Mother,” Loki mutters, unable to meet her gaze right away. He is still hurt that Nál had not told him of Fárbauti’s and Odin’s plans, but he can understand why she had not…in a way. 

“And you and Odinson,” she pauses and Loki finally glances up at her, brows slightly furrowed in confusion, “you two seem to be getting on well. Especially last night if the rumors among the servants are to be believed.” Nál’s smile turns sly as she studies her son closely. 

“Mother!” Loki squawks indignantly, his face blushing brightly—he has been doing a lot of that this morning, he muses. His outburst had been loud enough to draw the attention of their family and of Thor’s, and Loki ducks his head in embarrassment. 

“I am not having this conversation with you right now, Mother,” he mumbles, definitely not meeting her gaze now. 

He hears her chuckle softly then feels her fingers brush his cheek as she tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear. Her skin is cooler than his own, but that is only because his cheeks are still tinged brightly with his blush. 

“I am happy for you, Loki,” his mother says sincerely, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead between his horns. “Now come, we shouldn’t keep your father and brothers, nor Odin’s family waiting any longer.” 

The goodbyes are quick, merely hugs between Nál and her sons—Helblindi protests when she kisses his cheek, even though Loki can tell he likes it—and a shared kiss with Fárbauti. Finally, the Gate Keep clears his throat and it is time for Nál to leave. Heimdall slides his sword—evidently the key to Bifrost—into place and Loki can hear the gears begin to turn within the inner mechanism before the machine is whirring loudly to life. 

With one last wave to her family, Nál turns and steps into the whirling portal of light and vanishes. A moment later her guards follow after her and Heimdall shuts Bifrost down. 

The group lingers for a moment longer before they file out of the inner chamber, back onto the Rainbow Bridge where the horses and carriage are still waiting for them. Loki moves more slowly, glancing back at Bifrost and suddenly feeling more alone than he has in some time. He has never been without his mother, or the ability to see his mother for more than a day or two. Of course, he has the ability to visit her if he wishes, it would take very little effort on his part, but he knows it would more than likely not be allowed, though he does not understand why. He tuts at himself and turns away, walking to his horse and mounting it more easily than he had the first time and without Thor’s help. The leather of the saddle rubs against his thighs and Loki winces faintly, skin already a bit raw from the ride to Bifrost. He sighs, shaking his head; he will have to find a salve to treat the irritation, there is bound to be something in the bathing rom of his chambers. 

Back at the palace, Loki dismounts and lands easily on his feet, handing the reigns over to one of the stable boys. He retreats back inside and up to his rooms, wanting to bath and wash his hair. It is something of a relief when Thor does not follow after him like he half expects. 

~

By the time there is a knock on the door, more than likely Thor coming to fetch him for their lunch, Loki is out of the bath and drying himself. 

“Come in,” he calls, hanging his towel on one of the hooks lining the wall of the bathing chamber before wringing out his hear and stepping into the main room. 

As he suspected, he finds Thor standing near the balcony doors. The Thunderer looks up when he hears the bathing chamber doors clothes and Loki cannot help the pleased little smirk at the way the blond man blushes faintly. He had not bothered putting on his robe before stepping out. 

“Come now, Thor,” Loki snorts, moving to the large wardrobe to pick out something to wear. “You saw me naked last night, no need to get so worked up.” He waves a flippant hand when he glances over his shoulder and sees that Thor has opened his mouth to speak. 

They are quiet as Loki dresses, and when he is ready, he turns to face the Thunderer with a smile, hair still loose and wet. He debates whether or not to have the other prince braid it, but decides to keep it down. 

“Shall we?” he hums, motioning to the door. 

Thor nods and offers Loki his arm with a radiant smile. The Jӧtun is beginning to wonder if everything the Thunderer does is radiant, and the thought irritates him. No one should be as perfect as Thor seems to be. Rolling his eyes, Loki takes his arm and lets himself be led through the palace and into a garden he has not seen, not even in his secret visits. It is just as beautiful as the other gardens he has seen, though the variety of flora is different than when he is used to seeing below his balcony. And to his surprise, there is already a blanket spread out in the grass under a large tree, their meal waiting for them. 

“Oh my.” Loki cannot help laughing, standing there and looking over everything. He glances to Thor and catches the confused look on his face. “This is so cliché.”

Thor looks almost crestfallen at the words, and Loki laughs again, patting him on the arm and pressing a kiss to his cheek before sitting on the blanket, legs folded elegantly. “Cliché doesn’t mean bad. Come. Sit.”

~

They talk well into the afternoon and Loki is surprised by how much Thor makes him laugh, with his stories of the adventures he has had with his Warriors Three and the Lady Sif. Before they realize it, it is time to get ready for dinner, the sun already starting to sink lower into the sky. 

Loki lets Thor escort him back to his chamber. When they arrive, they linger outside the heavy doors for several moments too long. He ducks his long hair behind his ears and glances at the Thunderer, eyes wandering to his lips then back up, their gazes meeting. 

“Thank you for lunch,” Loki murmurs, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I had a lovely time, and I suppose I’ll see you at dinner.”

Thor nods, looking nervous about something. Loki tips his head slightly to the side, but before he can open his mouth to ask what the matter is, his lips are caught in a soft kiss. He sucks in a surprised gasp through his nose, but melts into it, arms wrapping loosely around Thor’s broad shoulders. The kiss quickly becomes more heated, the other prince’s tongue pressing into his mouth, and without the tinge of alcohol there had been last night, he tastes different in a very good day. He almost tastes the way he smells, like a thunderstorm that is just beginning to roll in, and Loki has to pull himself away before he ends up pulling his lover into his chambers and they end up skipping dinner all together. He steps back toward the door and offers Thor a small smile. 

“See you in a little while,” he hums before slipping inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a blah chapter, even for me. I'm sorry about that, the next one will be better.


	11. A Long Deserved Update of Things for Anyone Who's Still Wanting to Read This

Hi everyone,

I've been thinking a lot about this fic lately and about how much people seem to read it, and the fact that I've basically left it here for over a year now. I just wanted to let everyone know that I'm going through the process of rewriting it. Looking over it again, I'm not entirely thrilled with where I'm going with it and honestly, it's taken so long, I don't actually remember what I originally wanted to do. The story's going to be similar, I think, but I'll be posting the rewritten chapter under a different title. Ideally, I'd like to have at least three or four chapters finished in advance before posting anything, so it may be a while, but I thought y'all deserved to know what's going on. Thank you so much for sticking around for so long, and I'm sorry about the way this fic kinda just puttered out. I'll try and do better this time around.

I'll also be changing my username from EverBeenToSpace to Springsie (or SpringsieFoxTail depending on what's available), just so everyone knows. 

Thanks again, and I love you all.


End file.
